Men may bind my hands and feet: Stain my blood upon the dirt. Serve me up to whomever they see fit.
Even so, my eyes are fixed towards heaven; seeing the doves that fly gracefully.
Men may destroy my limbs but even then, my compassion for them cannot cease and the man who is poorer than me shall clean my face with his dirty sheets.
Blessed is that man for he has given much. My persecution is nigh and yet, afar off, I can still see the doves that fly.