Far and wide we have gone,
searching the greener of life;
we toss our efforts to be anew bone
for our humble hobbies of our future lives.
All around we have struggl’d
to see our future bright,
being perfect’d by our Mak’r’s struggle
in His Glorious Heav’nly posture in bright.
Sleepless we work,
working to bett’r our expos’d marrows,
but leaving the rest to our Creator
until we with Death travel.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem