Translation from Victor Hugo

What does it matter though the life below
For mortals prove unequal on the whole,
Flying and fading, wheresoe'er we go?
Have you not still — above it all — your soul?

Your soul, which, into regions pure and clear,
Soon by its heav'nly nature shall arise,
And bear you far beyond all sorrows here,
And farther still, beyond all murmuring sighs.

Be like a bird, which for an instant may
Rest on frail boughs, yet all untroubled sings,
Nor checks its song to heed the bending spray,
Calm in the quiet consciousness of wings.