'O hoary Age, of fear you bear no trace,
Though dreadful Death you soon will have to face:
With weighty years ecumbered,
Your days are now numbered:
A foot of yours is almost in the grave;
How long can you the other hope to save? '
'If I was never cause for 'dread' to spread,
What cause have I Death to ever dread?
My work here is done;
My life's aim is won:
If God has further use for me above,
I'll deem it but a signal of his love'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem