Aspire to thy Soul's Highest Octave,
Where that beautiful Sound,
In Heaven's Humble Abode, doth live:
Allow thine melodies - pure - to float around,
Until in perfect Harmony, they doth float to the ground.
Attune thyself to God's Graceful Love -
And even tho' it's easier sometimes to hate,
Knoweth within, thro' Love, thou shalt soar as a Dove -
Soareth as releas'd from Heaven's Gate:
Thro' Love and Goodwill, lives of men shall be alter'd thro' Fate.
Fate alone which knoweth not good nor bad,
Yet doth arrive so soon, most think 'tis a crime -
To spendest thy days in any state but Glad,
Glad even tho' sometime's Life's unfair; and Time
Wilt surely end even as the line of this Rhyme.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem