Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski

(1550 - 1581 / Poland)

Song III


Have mercy on me, my Lord,
For a foe treds o'er me and strives
Mindfully that time and again
I be wearied by all adversity.

Cruelly he treds, proud in his throng,
Stifling me with cruelness undue;
Never's the day I'm free of him,
Nor is my night empty of grim fear.

Yet, be it day, be it night when
Pondrous fear doth oppress, kind Father,
Thou, my Defender, art my hope,
And in each need to the end shall be.

Whilst I, Lord, being assured
In Thy promises, neither blind
Human connivance, nor fierce threat,
Nor battle's dread would I fear.

Whatever I say, they wrongly construe;
To my each deed they give rebuke;
Impious ones have turned all care
To rendering me most loatheful.

In temples by veiled treachery
Or open offence they conspire
To smite me; my every path they mark,
No safety would they afford me.

And this Thou wouldst suffer, just Lord?
Evil ones are to rejoice in such doings?
Wouldst Thou waiver bringing unrising
Ruin to a Temple of such calumny?

I know, verily I know, Lord eternal,
That my every defeat Thou dost reckon,
Tears from sad eyes Thou dost retain,
And dread afflictions' cause Thou dost know;

Work of evildoers Thou turnst to naught,
But to me a kindly ear dost lend,
And brights signs of Thy benevolence
And constant love to me Thou dost reveal.

Whilst I, Lord, being assured
In Thy promises, neither blind
Human connivance, nor fierce threat,
Nor battle's dread would I fear.

And ever to Thee, fatherly guard
Of my being, fuli praise I'll offer
In fitting song; unhindered, I'll feign
Not giving, free by thy grace, my avowed

Sacrifice. With Thine aid, my feet
Shall stray not from Thy sacred path,
For such time as my spirit's abode
In this frail body be, O my Lord!

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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