John Milton - PSAL. LXXXVIII [tekst, tłumaczenie i interpretacja piosenki]

1          LORD God that dost me save and keep,
         All day to thee I cry;
         And all night long, before thee weep
        Before thee prostrate lie.

2          Into thy presence let my praier
         With sighs devout ascend
         And to my cries, that ceaseless are,
         Thine ear with favour bend.

3          For cloy'd with woes and trouble store
         Surcharg'd my Soul doth lie,
         My life at death's uncherful dore
         Unto the grave draws nigh.

4          Reck'n'd I am with them that pass
         Down to the dismal pit
         I am a *man, but weak alas * Heb. A man without manly
         And for that name unfit. strength.

5          From life discharg'd and parted quite
         Among the dead to sleep
        And like the slain in bloody fight
         That in the grave lie deep.
        Whom thou rememberest no more,
        Dost never more regard,
        Them from thy hand deliver'd o're
        Deaths hideous house hath barr'd.

6         Thou in the lowest pit profound'
        Hast set me all forlorn,
         Where thickest darkness hovers round,
        In horrid deeps to mourn.

7          Thy wrath from which no shelter saves
         Full sore doth press on me;
        *Thou break'st upon me all thy waves, *The Heb.
        *And all thy waves break me
        bears both.
8          Thou dost my friends from me estrange,
         And mak'st me odious,
         Me to them odious, for they change,
        And I here pent up thus.

9          Through sorrow, and affliction great
         Mine eye grows dim and dead,
        Lord all the day I thee entreat,
        My hands to thee I spread.

10         Wilt thou do wonders on the dead,
         Shall the deceas'd arise
        And praise thee from their loathsom bed
         With pale and hollow eyes?

11          Shall they thy loving kindness tell
        On whom the grave hath hold,
         Or they who in perdition dwell
         Thy faithfulness unfold?

12         In darkness can thy mighty hand
        Or wondrous acts be known,
        Thy justice in the gloomy land
        Of dark oblivion?

13          But I to thee O Lord do cry
         E're yet my life be spent,
         And up to thee my praier doth hie
         Each morn, and thee prevent.

14          Why wilt thou Lord my soul forsake,
         And hide thy face from me,

15          That am already bruis'd, and *shake *Heb. Prae Concussione.
         With terror sent from thee;
         Bruz'd, and afflicted and so low
         As ready to expire,
         While I thy terrors undergo
        Astonish'd with thine ire.

16         Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow
         Thy threatnings cut me through.

17          All day they round about me go,
         Like waves they me persue.

18         Lover and friend thou hast remov'd
         And sever'd from me far.
        They fly me now whom I have lov'd,
        And as in darkness are.

        Finis.