HAMLET

The plaudits slowly fade away.
Again I come upon the stage.
I strain to hear in dying echoes
The fate that waits our present age.

Through thousands of binoculars
The night of darkness stares at me.
If possible, O Abba, Father,
Then take away this cup from me.

I love Thy stern design, and I am
Content to act this role of woe.
But there's another play on stage;
Then spare me now, and let me go.

The acts are plotted, planned with care;
The end, foredoomed. I stand alone.
The Pharisees exult in pride.
O hard the way-our ways of stone.