Is it by Divine grace few pass through life
Eluding pain, with scarce a trace of strife,
While others are slaughtered by Fate's sharp knife?
How the tears fall as misery runs rife!

When the tattered flags of war are unfurled,
With every bullet and bomb that is hurled,
When on battlefields, blood and soil are swirled,
I cry for the wickedness in this world

I feel the woes of each abandoned heart
As the barbs of loneliness sting and smart;
And while Destiny play its chosen part,
Helplessly I watch, and then the tears start

I cry for the pain of each living thing,
The warbler that struggles, but cannot sing,
A queen's bittersweet reign without her king;
And yet, what benefit do such tears bring?

Though vague longings stir when evening is nigh,
We're condemned to sorrow, my heart and I;
Then dread overtakes, and O, how I cry,
Yearning for the love Fate chose to deny

Wasted tears, why do you fall from my eyes?
Just force of habit, I must surmise,
As Life delivers what Hell ratifies . . .
Pain and wasted tears . . . in endless supplies