The Observer
By: Nuoyong
For in dying, we are born to eternal life.
The expectant mother in the travail of labor,
But soon joy at the first breastfed.
Who will explain this mystery?
The pains of labor, then the smiles of joy.
The agony at Gethsemane, the glory at Calvary.
Why this extreme feeling of contradictory reality?
Why is birthing to a new life full of sorrow and joy?
At one point, all seems hopeless—then, hope.
Indeed, unless a grain dies, it remains fruitless.
When death lays hands on loved ones, sorrow fills the earth.
Birth to immortality makes no sense to the mourner,
But becomes his consoling pill.
God gave, and God has taken—
May His name be praised.
I remembered, on the cross of Calvary,
When the God-Man gave up His humanity and shouted, “It is finished.”
The earth trembled, curtains were torn—
The confusion of the mystery of death results in victory.
The preacher says, there is a time to mourn and a time to rejoice,
A time to be born and a time to die.
Oh, death to new life—what a mystery to unfold.
