1. For high prices have estranged people of piety,
So there remains only the obstinate transgressor,

2. And every intimate, loving friend is lost,
So where, oh where, is an intimate, loving friend?

3. And how many a trusted brother have I buried,
So truly the graves have hidden them,

4. And loss of friends has bereaved me like the loss of children,
So I have become like a lonely stranger.

5. And how many a wretched one is covered by dust,
And how many a happy one covered by soil.