O fiery Spirit, praise be to you,
who perform on drum and lyre.

The minds of men are inflamed by you,
and the tabernacles of their souls
contain their own strength 

Thence the will rises up 
and bestows taste on the soul,
and its lamp is desire.

The intellect summons you with sweetest sound
and prepares a house for you with reason,
which sweats from its golden labors.

But you always wield a sword
to cut off that which brings forth the noxious apple
through blackest murder,

When a mist enshrouds the will and the desires,
in which the soul takes wing and circles about.

But the mind is that which binds will and desire.

Indeed, when the spirit thus rouses itself,
because it seeks to see the eye of evil and the jaws of wickedness,
you very quickly destroy it with fire, when you wish. 

But when reason lowers itself through evil deeds,
you bind and restrain it and lead it back when you wish
through immersion in trials.

But when evil draws its sword against you,
you break it in pieces in its heart 
as you did at first to the fallen angel,
when you cast down the tower of his pride into hell.

And on that spot you raised another tower
among the publicans and sinners,
who confess their sins to you with their works.

Wherefore all creatures who have life from you praise you,
Because you are the most precious balm
for open and foul wounds,
when you transform them into the most precious gems.

Now deign to gather us all to you
and direct us onto the straight path. 
Amen.