(translated by Er. A. Kremer)
Don't think the world is a tavern, createdto blast one's way forward by punching and clawingright up to the bar stools, and gorge there and guzzlewhile those in the rear look with eyes that grow glassy,half-swooning, and gulp their saliva and draw intheir stomachs that twist with the cramps of the hungry.O don't think the world is a tavern.Don't think the world is a Market, createdfor strong folk to trade with the weak and exhausted,to purchase the virtue of girls who are needy,to bargain the milk from the breasts of poor women,from workmen their marrow, from children the pale smile- the guest that appears on their faces so seldom.O don't think the world is a Market.Don't think the world is a jungle, createdfor wolves and for foxes, for theft and for swindle,the heavens- a drape, so that God will not notice,a fog - so that none can behold what your hands are,a wind - so that every wild outcry is smothered,an earth - that will soak up the blood of the slaughtered.O don't think the world is a jungle.The world is no tavern, no Market, no jungle!Here everything's weighed, all is carefully measured!Not one drop of blood, not one tear unrecorded;no spark that's snuffed out in an eye is glossed over. From teardrops come rivers; from rivers come oceans;from oceans - a tempest; from sparks - a great thunder.O don't think there's no Court of Justice! . . .