The many unfortunate ones, all remind
That God has spared me all along till date;
I’m not as unlucky as I do find:
God has allowed me a much better fate.
Yet, ungrateful as I am, I complain
Endlessly, when my troubles haunt sometimes;
If it has been sunny, we want the rain!
Dissatisfied is man in many climes.
So, let us think of brethren poorer still,
Whom Nature has cruelly dealt a blow,
Who are by body and spirit, more ill,
Who invite Death but Death says, ‘Not now’, No!
So, count we must, our blessings one by one
And thank the Lord for sending His own Son!
8-22-2002
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem