Oh, yet we trust that somehow good

我们仍旧相信，以某种方式

         Will be the final end of ill,

善将成为恶不可更改的终点，

         To pangs of nature, sins of will,

无论本性的折磨，意志的罪孽，

Defects of doubt, and taints of blood;

抑或信仰的危机，肉欲的侵蚀；

That nothing walks with aimless feet;

相信万事俱有其目标；

         That not one life shall be destroy'd,

相信没有生命会被毁坏

         Or cast as rubbish to the void,

会被当作垃圾投向虚空，

When God hath made the pile complete;

当上帝完成了他的工作；

That not a worm is cloven in vain;

相信没有一条虫豸被白白劈开，

         That not a moth with vain desire

没有一只飞蛾带着徒然的渴求

         Is shrivell'd in a fruitless fire,

皱缩于徒劳的烈火，

Or but subserves another's gain.

或是仅仅成全他人的利益；

Behold, we know not anything;

瞧，我们一无所知，

         I can but trust that good shall fall

我只能相信善终将降临

         At last—far off—at last, to all,

在最后——遥远的——终端，降临于众生，

And every winter change to spring.

而每个冬天都会变为春天。

So runs my dream: but what am I?

我这样梦想着：但我是什么？

         An infant crying in the night:

一个婴孩在黑夜里哭喊：

         An infant crying for the light:

一个婴孩哭求着光明，

And with no language but a cry.

没有语言，唯有哭泣。