I ofttimes come to this lonely place,
And forget the stir of my restless race;
Forget the woes of human life,
The bitter pang and the constant strife,
The angry word and the cruel taunt,
The sight and the sound of guilt and want,
And the frequent tear by the widow shed,
When her infants ask in vain for bread.
All these I put from my mind aside,
And forget the offence of worldly pride.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem