Who in Manresa can I sate? The glory is greater
For the pilgrim who is not great—the glory is greater.
My father must behind its walls be waiting; he is bound
And shackled and I must not wait—the glory is greater.
Where once in extinguishing embrace I toiled in black soil
Now I sow my ash at its gate—the glory is greater.
Will I satisfy through my denial’s imitation?
I know I need faith, not your fate—the glory is greater.
And, where will I greet him? Where is he who now makes his cell
In rock, graving in silverplate, “the glory is greater”?
“Beneath La Seu,” the troubadour cants with kisses the wind;
The breeze filling me to reflate—the glory is greater.
My father must within his well Jono be awaiting
To Exercise and calm his prate—the glory is greater.