Classic Poem

I can not tell it, nor with it untold can I find rest: this great bliss my wretchedness, great beyond greatness, craves.
The greatness of the Lord is great, my littleness is little indeed, the Lord is holiness and I am gross with sin.
Thinking on this and that, shame and fear oppress the mind it dare not seek the presence of the Lord, whose countenance is alike to all.
Let the story of the praises of the Lord be sung: hands joined and bended head. He has respect unto the lowly, well versed in love's way.
Within this court pride forfeits all: humility will make the blessings of communion to flow forth.
Thy name fulfils all longings, as the Kama-tree: by meditation, upon Thee the mire of Kali Juga is cleansed away.
O Treasure-house of mercy, Tulsi craves this boon that in the heavenly river of Thy Bhagti he may swim as a fish in the waters.