~ 150 - 17.

O God, to the Threefold Fate of Our Youth

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From the day I was called to the wonder
Of Betar, its command and my sword,
A brother's hand delivered me to my cell
And they locked my prison-house before me.

For the Saison is either to conquer its decay,
Or to hand over the double shame:
We are called Rebellion – and with this verdict,
They will dim into a viper.

The armor and the bow are not for us,
No harvest, no possession, no building –
O God, our youth is fated for sorrow,
And we will disown our brother to annihilation.

Upon a storm, upon destruction – upon the rebellion…
Hey, its spirit fills all our land:
Slumber, valley of glory,
My flag will be raised upon you too.

This quarrel is not yet resolved
Between man and the white – and the idle one:
We will yet surely repay you, Cain,
We will redeem the soul of your youth.

For we have carried a shroud –
Because of them, in storm, on the gallows,
O God, to the threefold fate of our youth
Over white – and cessation – and man.