Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski
Why flatter thyself, Tyrant,
In ways great in evil?
The Lord's goodness ceases not
Keeping watch on the pious.
Keener yet than the keenest
Blade, thy tongue watches
To generate wild untruth
And plot slander' gainst the good.
Evil's thy love, not sacred virtues;
A lier's thy love, not a truthsayer;
Thine own accursed eye in joy
Gazes at treason most infectious.
For this the Lord God shall fling
Thee from the midst of His people;
Grinding thee to dust, aye, thy home
He'll rend asunder from the very earth.
Seeing this, he who was wronged
Shall fear the power of the Lord;
With the evil one swifty dispensed,
In safety shall he rejoice.
Saying: "So for him who in evil
Lay his trust, in power, in clever device;
Who mocked those lamenting in plight,
Whilst his own God he'd forgot.
But I, like unto an Olive tree
Grafted in the Lord's garden,
Unfearing I'll blossom forth
In my hope of heaven's defence.
And unto everyone, Lord, Thee
Would I claim iniquity's slayer;
And having in Thee my trust,
All manner of afflictions I'll bear."
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Comments about this poem (Song II by Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski )
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
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