Who will ask about you, the tired and ailing, except you?

O Messiah, come for the sake of asking about the ailing.

Place your hand on the head of the ailing one and ask how he is

Do not think of his sin and do not reach out with vengeance.

The one upon whom the sun of calamity has drawn its sword

Spread over his head the shadow of kindness and acceptance.

This guilty one is worthy of two hundred sufferings

But from that grace, there is no fitting reward except pardon and generosity.

The heart that you nurtured with a hundred kinds of milk and sugar

Do not make it taste the poison of injustice with every breath after that.

Since you have lifted your heart from me and my dwelling

The dam broke and a flood of calamity entered towards me.

You are a cure, when you come happily and show your face

The army of suffering will flee and turn their backs.

To what doctor will you refer him, O water of life?

From the same place where the pain arrives, there is the cure.

The whole world is like a body and you are the head and soul of all

How can a body live whose head has been separated?

O you, the spring of life and the life of everyone

Our stream has dried up, open the water from this side.

Except for these few words, it remained in the ailing heart

Until it sees your beautiful face, it will not say, by God.