I find room in my heart for serving God

After da Lentin's 'Io rn'aggio posto in core a Dio servire'

I find room in my heart for serving God
somehow, although the blessings of Paradise
seem illusory. Whatever the poets have said
and sung, or put in verses, will not suffice

despite their beauty. Wherever the Sun treads
it leaves its light, its illuminated face
brings joy to the oak trees and flowers. Indeed,
who is here but God? Who is arbiter of bliss

that's infinite? Whose action and intent
is beyond comprehension? The rain falls here
and there, the bayous and pastures seem content

with the moisture. I'm running up the stairs
of the beloved's house, the energy I've spent
is like the Sunlight reaching everywhere.