© 2011 Robert Lamoureux
© 2011 French-speaking Association of Readers of the Urantia Book
You tell me, Sir, that I have bad luck,
That with this life that I lead, I am ruining myself,
That we gain nothing by overdoing it:
You tell me, finally, that I am tired.
Yes, sir, I am tired: and I flatter myself about it!
I'm tired in everything, my voice, my heart, my spleen,
I fall asleep exhausted, I wake up tired,
But thank God, sir, I don't care.
Or, when I do care, I make a fool of myself.
Fatigue, often, is just bragging...
We are never as tired as we think!
And even if that were the case, wouldn't we have the right to do so?
I'm not talking to you about dark weariness,
That we have, when the body is worn out by habits,
Only has pale reasons to move...
When you have made yourself your only horizon.
When you have nothing to lose, to win or to defend.
This fatigue is bad to hear.
She has a heavy brow, a dull eye, a rounded back
And gives you the appearance of a dying living being.
But feeling yourself bend under the formidable weight
Lives for which, one fine day, we became responsible,
Knowing that we have joys or tears in our hands,
Knowing that we are the tool, that we are its tomorrow.
Knowing that you are the leader, knowing that you are the source,
Helping a life to continue its course,
And for that fight until your heart wears out:
This fatigue, sir, is happiness.
And sure that with each step, with each assault that we deliver,
We are going to help a being to live or survive,
And sure that we are the road and the port and the ford,
Where would one get the right to be too tired?
Those who make their life a beautiful adventure
Mark each victory hollow on their face,
And when misfortune comes to put another hole in it,
Among so many other hollows, it goes unnoticed.
Fatigue, sir, is always a fair price.
It is the price of a day of effort and struggle.
It is the price of labor, of a wall or of an exploit,
Not the price we pay, but the one we receive.
It's the price of work, of a full day.
This is proof, sir, that we walk with life.
When I come home at night and my house is asleep,
I listen to my sleep and, there, I feel strong!
I feel all puffed up with my humble suffering
And my fatigue, then, is a reward.
And you advise me to go and rest!
But if I accepted what you are proposing to me,
If I abandoned myself to your sweet intrigue,
But I would die, sir, sadly of fatigue.
Robert Lamoureux