Αἴλινον, αἴλινον εἰπέ, τὸ δ’ εὖ νικάτω

O well for him who lives at ease

With garnered gold in wide domain,

Nor heeds the splashing of the rain,

The crashing down of forest trees.

O well for him who ne’er hath known

The travail of the hungry years,

A father grey with grief and tears,

A mother weeping all alone.

But well for him whose foot hath trod

The weary road of toil and strife,

Yet from the sorrows of his life.

Builds ladders to be nearer God.