Wherever he looks, darkness prevails:
lush-green hills, jewel-like islands, all are batched in gloom.
For him each new day begins a new autumn:
the people's hopes tumbling like leaves,
his spirit bowed under the weight of their sorrows.

His heart beats in fear of new misfortunes,
his eyes burn with the fever of anxiety;
nights are slow and long;
mornings freshen hopes and pass;
on his lips still linger the songs of endurance.

At times brimful of high, ecstatic hopes,
so exalted he could touch the edge of the Infinite,
he calls out in a voice like impassioned thunder,
and if the people hear,
their hearts echo his passionate ardor.

Unseen by others, noble aims wrestle in his mind;
the holiness of his cause colors the ground he treads.
He resolves to set, each day,
one fellow-traveler upon the right road,
in the hope that day is the day when the gloom shall disperse.

At times, forces of unbelief knock him,
everyone, senseless; and persecutions,
like bloody spikes, are thrust into his soul.
At times, spring fragrances fan the air around him
and gentle breezes blow with diverse, subtle perfumes.