The hate is this life
She's a cruel wife
And though she with me she strife
I got to treat her as rife
She put the house in darkness
I have to make a light
She is wrong and wrought with corruptness
I have to make things right
She puts me in a stormy gale
And then hides her face
But relying on a grace
My anchor holds within the veil
Though she left me in this valley alone
Yet will I make effort to sit one day on the throne
When all folks and friends move away
There's a hope they'll still come to stay
But wonder thou not about my surety
Wonder thou not why I regard not her faulty
The chart in my hands is my destiny
The artist shown anonimity
Nonetheless I know of his demonstrations
Through his creations
Unto him I look
Relying on His word, His Holy book
Support me in this wife's whelming flood
With your power with your blood
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem