Eyes that fire and sword have seen
Look again on hills and hollows green.
Feet that have tread on bladed thorns
Will dance on grass though torn!
Ears that have heard the shrieking of death
Will hear again the melody of laughing breath.
Wanderers who've lasted in the dreaded days
Will be rewarded in plenteous ways.
Those who labor in the darkness of the night
Will be rewarded in the coming of the light.
The hands that give, so torn, bloody, scarred
Will be bathed in cool waters of precious nard.
Those who live not for life, but for love—who die
Will live again when the trumpets wake those who lie
In tombs so dark and deep, dead eyes, feet, hands
Will arise in flight to be healed in the Lands
Of life, and joy, worlds away from this present pain
Where life is not for living, but giving not for gain.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem