Through the glass darkly I see this unfold:
Nations in misery, suff'rings untold.
Creator of all, Lord of all lands,
Your work is perfect, but I don't understand.
Love is a mocker; it promises all,
But ends with a tear, and hurts when you fall.
Lord, you created me by your hand;
You make the rules, but I don't understand.
One day I'll know, but now I can't tell,
Why would you craft a place called Hell?
My God, it's all in your Master Plan,
It's yours to decide, but I don't understand.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem