Bearing with Him a flower basket,
who came, O who came?
With a garland of songs in His hand,
He set me afloat on His stream of melody.

The mimusops jasmine blossoms have opened their eyes.
The Indian olive scatters joyous intoxication.

The black bee tries to speak,
intoxicated with sweet fragrance.

In the distant sky the stars are smiling
and pollen float in the air,
blending with the pollen of life.
The vast universe has become scarlet red.

For a long time I sat and waited
until the one whom I awaited,
with His own hand, rocked the cradle of song.

Who came, O Lord, who came?