O, how blest are ye whose toils are ended!
Who, through death, have unto God ascended!
Ye have arisen
From the cares which keep us still in prison.
We are still as in a dungeon living,
Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving;
Are but toils, and troubles, and heart-breakings.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem