Seven Lamentations and Their Answers

I call a curse on my conception day,
That birth would burn with blackness over-born.
Destruction unto death is my desire,
Then I’d have never seen the evil of this earth!
Surely had I the chance to change and chose,
I would decide to die upon that day,
But see my birth: my suffering started there.
And so I lament.

“But I have chosen birth that you might live;
Do not despise the sacred gift I give.
I chose that I be born into your earth,
And knew your suffering at all its worst.”

But You are Lord, and not a lowly man,
Could You then sympathize in suffering?
What evil could eternal ever feel?
Or can infinity feel loss and longing?
Is pain of parting in Your omnipresence?
That’s absurd.

“And yet in everything I was a man,
All pain and suffering I understand.
For I experienced all, and worse than you.
And so My pity is completely true.”

What comfort can I find in cosmic life?
When friends will fail — faithless fraternity.
I asked support, and solace for my soul,
They stabbed me in the back.

“And even I had friends betray My trust.
You can’t react by closing off your love.
But I will comfort you – your friends are means,
All comfort ultimately comes from Me.”

But were a measure made of all my woes,
And weighed against the world, the scale would show!
I’m comfortless, and therefore do I cry,
As for Yourself, You have forsaken me,
Or was this desolation done by You?
And so I complain.

“Yet I have suffered pain beyond compare,
And never did I speak in my despair.
Tho’ pain should lead to cries of righteous grief,
Oh, never let your tongue complaining speak!”

Perhaps if I had marred myself in pain,
Then I could bear the burden of my plight,
Perhaps in death my rest will be revealed,
For grief has never gone into the grave.
There’s my hope!

“Your hope is not in your own death or pain,
But in My death – yet Mine was not in vain,
For then I conquered death in victory,
There is your hope of rest eternally.”

Yet man was made of molded, mortal mud.
And he will vanish as the fleeting flower.
His life is hard, and hardly to be born in whole.
As of a slave who cannot sit in shade,
What little can he do? But then life leaves,
Finally he sleeps.

“It’s true that life is very shortly lived,
So do not waste a second that I give!
But use your life to build what will endure:
The Word of God – and you will rest secure.”

But why, Lord, do You ever look on us?
Is it enough that we exist at all?
But now you watch and wait to damn our works,
You will not turn away for time it takes,
To simply swallow my saliva down.
A prisoner in a panopticon,
A lab-rat underneath Your leering eye,
The gaze of God has gutted all my hope,
I wish I could cease to exist.

“But you misread My constant care for you!
Devoted to your welfare I pursue.
You speak such blaspheme that you should die,
Yet I took death that you be justified.”

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