A little moment, and ye cease to be.
Why do ye labor on from day to day
For a bare pittance, which ye earn with pain
And eat in fear? Why do ye longer stay
Beneath the cruel gods' oppressing reign?
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Why strive for that which ye can ne'er attain?
Why do ye linger on the barren earth?
Naught can it give you but unceasing pain,
For man is bred to sorrow from his birth,
And ever doomed to find his labor vain;
A little flower crushed by storms and rain.
Your shattered bark from wave to wave is tossed,
Ye live in sorrow and unending strife;
A pleasure gained is the next moment lost;
And yet ye cling to that brief span of life,
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