I look up to the sky and the stars,
And down to the earth and the things that creep there.
And I consider in my heart how their creation
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I stationed a strong force in a citadel
Which soldiers had destroyed long ago.
We slept there, in it, and around it,
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Man runs towards the grave,
And rivers hasten to the great deep
The end of all living is their death,
And the palace in time becomes a heap.
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Man's wisdom is at the tip of his pen,
His intelligence is in his writing.
His pen can raise a man to the rank
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Consider how shameful rejoicing is,
Since it comes between two bouts of woe.
You wept when you came into this world,
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