“Why do you wish for death”, you say, “why do you hate this world?”
“Has all your courage been effaced?” you vehemently scold.
“That at the slightest sign of dusk, you wish to make your scape,”
“To bow your head, your will undone, without a fight to fold?”
I say your rancor is unjust, your ire does run afoul.
For all your queries miss the mark, of what I have avowed.
My longing is not death, nor do I think this world so bleak.
Desist, I pray, to havoc wreak. I shall confer what I do seek:
To hear the trumpet’s blast resound deep from beyond the void.
To wake from slumber, leave my shroud, death finally destroyed.
To see Him come on clouds with fire, stars falling from the sky.
His feet like brass so just and fine, to witness in delight.
To see a city silver-gold descending to the earth.
And on mount Zion see it stand, oh I can hardly wait.
To drink the water from the spring that satiates all thirst.
And to receive my own white stone, to enter by the gate.
To stand before His mighty throne, to fall before His power.
To hear Him say “well done my son” oh how I do desire.
To look upon the earth renewed, among its fields to wander.
To marvel thus forevermore, filled with eternal wonder.
Now hear it plain, and know it true: I do not wish for death.
What I desire is life anew, with every single breath.
I do not hate this blessed world, I wish it to be free
From pestilence, from scorn, from death and darkness’ tyranny.
Vostak 