1. My patience is gone after my patience, and my endurance has ended
So who will remove the agony of passion from my liver

2. And who will console a minister whose hand I left
A young gazelle laid to rest and a crescent moon buried in the dust

3. He cries and mourns a son of seven who was not completed
Of perfection, seventy diligent ones were prohibited

4. And his words, "The hand of piety dates it"
Bliss like yours in Paradise, O my son