Whatever plans that man may make his own,
Don’t take off well yet in the longer run;
And in the end, he finds himself a clown,
His work turns out to be an act of fun.
For, God can bring things to a grinding halt,
Or give the fillip to a super-start;
If things don’t move, ’tis purely man’s own fault,
And blame goes to us for our foolish part.
God takes the side of righteous men, women,
And gives a rope that’s long for evil ones;
He can rescue one from a lion’s den!
And from the face of death by war-zone guns.
And Providence will have the final say!
And man cannot escape his reckoning-day.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem