Who made the mountains?

Who decided every tiny rock's shape?

Who created these mighty eminences, superior above all?

There is a greater power, 

the one who made the mountains,

the one who designed every tiny light,

that illuminates the night sky.

How can I enjoy life, or, 

even just live,

if I can find no meaning in it,

for won't everything die away soon enough?

Think. Do you believe this greater power?

Truly, this greater power I mean —

who can move the mountain heights,

who can multiply stray flowers upon the stone.

Tell me, what point is there to our lives?

Doesn't everything live and die at last?

Tell me, what gives you meaning,

that your life should still be precious,

after you die?