He groans with the sufferings of the people,
trembling like the candlelight. At break of day
he walks amid mountains splitting with grief;
and he would desire their time of happiness,
though himself in Paradise.

Wherever he looks, darkness prevails:
lush-green hills, jewel-like islands, all are
bathed in gloom. For him each new day
begins a new autumn: the people's hopes
tumbling like leaves, his spirit bowed
under the weight of their sorrows.

His heart beats in fear of new misfortunes,
his eyes burn with the fever of anxiety:
nights are slow and long: mornings freshen
hopes and pass; on his lips still linger
the songes of endurance.

At times brimful of high, ecstatic hopes, so
exalted he could touch the edge of the Infinite,
he calls out in a voice like impassioned thunder.
and if the people hear, their hearts echo
his passionate ardour.

Unseen by others, noble aims wrestle in his mind;
the holiness of his cause colours the ground he treads.
He resolves to set, each day, one fellow-traveller
upon the right road, in the hope that day is the day
when the gloom shall disperse.

At times, forces of unbelief knock him, everyone,
senseless; and persecutions, like bloody spikes.
are thrust into his soul. At times, spring fragrances
fan the air around him and gentle breezes blow
with diverse, subtle perfumes.


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