Oh, yet we hope that somehow fortunate will be the absolute purpose of ill.
To throbs of nature, crimes of a buccaneer, Defects of the problem, and strives of living.
That nonentity strolls in vain, That not one vitality shall be ruined.
Realize, we know not anything, Some good shall fall I can bank.
No more!!!!! It’s a monster but a dream, Life is futile, then, as frail!!!
But what we are? An infant crying for the light: With no language but a moan.
Are god and nature than at strife, That Nature lends such horrible vision?
Trust, god loves his people indeed, And trust the creation’s final law
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