On The Death Of A Son


Ali Ben Mohammed Al-Tahmany

Tyrant of Man! Imperious Fate!

I bow before your dread decree;

Nor do I hope in this uncertain state

To find a seat secure from thee.

Life is a dark, tumultuous stream,

With many a care and sorrow foul;

Yet thoughtless mortals vainly think

That it can yield a limpid bowl.

Don't think that stream will backward flow,

Or cease its destined course to keep;

As soon the blazing spark shall glow

Beneath the surface of the deep.

Don't believe Fate, at your command,

Will grant a reward she never gave;

As soon the airy tower shall stand

That's built upon a passing wave.

Life is a sleep of seventy years;

Death tells us to wake and greet the light;

And man, with all his hopes and fears,

Is but a phantom of the night.

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