From thee to thee I fly to win
    A place of refuge, and within
    Thy shadow from thy anger hide,
    Until thy wrath be turned aside. 
    Unto thy mercy I will cling,
    Until thou hearken pitying;
    Nor will I quit my hold of thee,
    Until thy blessing light on me.

These lines occur in Gebirol’s “Royal Crown” (Kether Malchuth) a glorious series of poems on God and the world.  In this, the poet pours forth his heart even more unreservedly than in his philosophical treatise, “The Fountain of Life,” or in his ethical work, “The Ennoblement of Character,” or in his compilation from the wisdom of the past, “The Choice of Pearls” (if, indeed, this last book be his).  The “Royal Crown” is a diadem of praises of the greatness of God, praises to utter which make man, with all his insignificance, great.

    Wondrous are thy works, O Lord of hosts,
    And their greatness holds my soul in thrall. 
    Thine the glory is, the power divine,
    Thine the majesty, the kingdom thine,
    Thou supreme, exalted over all.

* * * * *

    Thou art One, the first great cause of all;
    Thou art One, and none can penetrate,
    Not even the wise in heart, the mystery
    Of thy unfathomable Unity;
    Thou art One, the infinitely great.

But man can perceive that the power of God makes him great to pardon.  If he see it not now, he will hereafter.

    Thou art light:  pure souls shall thee behold,
    Save when mists of evil intervene. 
    Thou art light, that, in this world concealed,
    In the world to come shall be revealed;
    In the mount of God it shall be seen.

And so the poet in one of the final hymns of the “Royal Crown,” filled with a sense of his own unworthiness, hopefully abandons himself to God: 

     My God, I know that those who plead
     To thee for grace and mercy need
     All their good works should go before,
     And wait for them at heaven’s high door. 
     But no good deeds have I to bring,
     No righteousness for offering. 
     No service for my Lord and King.

     Yet hide not thou thy face from me,
     Nor cast me out afar from thee;
     But when thou bidd’st my life to cease,
     O may’st thou lead me forth in peace
     Unto the world to come, to dwell
     Among thy pious ones, who tell
     Thy glories inexhaustible.

     There let my portion be with those
     Who to eternal life arose;
     There purify my heart aright,
     In thy light to behold the light. 
     Raise me from deepest depths to share
     Heaven’s endless joys of praise and prayer,
     That I may evermore declare: 
Though thou wast angered, Lord, I will give thanks to thee, For past is now thy wrath, and thou dost comfort me.

Ibn Gebirol stood a little outside and a good deal above the circle of the Jewish poets who made this era so brilliant.  Many of them are now forgotten; they had their day of popularity in Toledo, Cordova, Seville, and Granada, but their poems have not survived.