Why, death, do you tarry so?

Jacob Frances

17th Century

Why, death, do you tarry so?
Why does your chariot come so slow?
Old age has prepared for me
Every illness and complaint.
What good are my hundred years?
   If such pain I undergo—
   Why, death, do you tarry so?
To put an old man underground
Is only kindness, not a crime.
I crave it as a bird his nest
   Or as a king longs for his throne—
   Why, death, do you tarry so?
To spare him is a cruelty;
To try to cure him, just a shame.
Dying is his only cure.
   Why, death, do you tarry so?
   Why does your chariot come so slow?
How can people not despise
A man whose hair is thin and gray,
With dribbling mouth and teary eyes,
   Who cannot hold himself upright?
   Why, death, do you tarry so?
When a man lives on too long,
His days are sorrow. He must see
His sons and wife and friends and kin,
Taken to the grave below—
   Why, then, does death tarry so?

Translated by
Raymond P.
Scheindlin
.

Credits

Jacob Frances, “Why, death, do you tarry so (Hebrew),” in Kol shire Yaʻakov Fransis (1615–1667) (The Poems of Jacob Francès) by Jacob ben David Francese, trans. Pnina Navè Levinson (Penina Naveh) (Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1969), 537–538.

Published in: The Posen Library of Jewish Culture and Civilization, vol. 5.

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