When I shall be the old man here,
Forgot by time, uncountable by year,
When I shall wish to pass the living brink,
At You I shall devote my thought and think.
Uselessness I`ll see in all that I achieve,
If I do not have love or can`t forgive
To do with love all that you have so ruled,
Unknown or known as suffering endured.
Washed I should not be from any of my sins,
If I did never forget or never forgive since
The hour of balance is inclined toward my trap,
And hardly passes us one thought or any other step.
And if I did not help that stranger foreign man,
A good word for the pain of that wretch sideman,
If I have never known to help my friend or mat,
In vain I shall be sorry, cry shouting or fill pat.
Or maybe all these I have done presuming,
But without love, alien and with so confiding,
Than I am just a sonorous forefinger copper,
An ugly earth body without climbing upper.
But even so, there is existing one more chance,
The wisdom in the last hour of one slippery Trans,
To give me power to see what does He want,
As life to give me; not to take and be redundant.
But sorrows, which born from facts and sin,
As are recognized, even now could be foreseen
That Judge with love in everything he does,
Inquires all and, with affection… forgives us.
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