Translation: The world is deceitful, filled with sorrow. If you are not steadfast, if you are imperfect, If your delights here are not good, If your joys and laughter are full of grief. If your honor and wealth are restless— Wind, smoke, nothing—they are all fleeting. They bloom in one hour, in another they wither: Today on the throne, tomorrow cast down. Where is he now who once, in pride, cried out—David? “Behold, I passed by—and he was no more.” To us, your amusements here seem sweet, Yet by these sweets our nature is weakened. Desires hinder the mind from seeing clearly, Making the bitter appear as sweet. Those who are exalted—each is proud in this world, Thinking themselves rich, as if death fears them. But what is wealth to us, if death reigns? One gathers, another inherits. What profit is honor to us, When death despises all ranks? Let there be but one thought for us, the poor: How the Judge will appear on that scary(?) day, And soon demand from us an answer: Why did we waste our years in vain? 📝 be99a204…