The heart is deceitful above all things
And beyond cure, who can understand it?
The words it speaks, songs it sings
Just to achieve what it sees for it fit?
Tis the Lord that searches the heart,
He that examines the mind,
And weighs the souls of all art,
In the palm of his right hand
He rewards us according to our conduct,
According to our deeds-
Are they a good product,
The fruits of our seeds?
In the days of our youth,
Let us remember our creator,
Dedicating our every breath,
To him our vindicator.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem