Oh, what a fearful thing it is,
That, from the better way,
Attracted by illusive bliss,
We love to go astray.
At first we slightly turn aside,
Nor think to travel long,
But more and more we wander wide,
And more and more go wrong.
Oh, poor and erring wanderer, stay!
Nor thus forsake thy God;
With hasty step regain the way
Thine earlier footsteps trod.
Oh, happy he, who loves to weep
With penitential tears,
And thus has strength divine to keep
His path in coming years.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem