A great anxiety has God
allotted, and a heavy yoke, to the sons of men: From the day one leaves his
mother’s womb to the day he returns to the mother of all the living, His
thoughts, the fear in his heart, and his troubled foreboding till the day he
dies— Whether he sits on a lofty throne or grovels in dust and ashes, whether
he bears a splendid crown, or is wrapped in the coarsest of cloaks— Are of
wrath and envy, trouble and dread, terror of death, fury and strife. Even when
he lies on his bed to rest, his cares at night disturb his sleep. So short is
his rest it seems like none, till in his dreams he struggles as he did by day,
Terrified by what his mind’s eye sees, like a fugitive being pursued; As he
reaches safety, he wakes up astonished that there is nothing to fear.
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