Chapter 87

Lord God, day and night I cry bitterly to thee;

let my prayer reach thy pre-sence, give audience to my entreaty,

for indeed my heart is full of trouble. My life sinks ever closer to the grave;

I count as one of those who go down into the abyss, like one powerless.

As well lie among the dead, men laid low in the grave, men thou rememberest no longer, cast away, now, from thy protecting hand.

Such is the place where thou hast laid me, in a deep pit where the dark waters swirl;

heavily thy anger weighs down on me, and thou dost overwhelm me with its full flood.

Thou hast estranged all my acquaintance from me, so that they treat me as a thing accursed; I lie in a prison whence there is no escape,

my eyes grow dim with tears. On thee I call, to thee stretch out my hands, each day that passes.

Not for the dead thy wonderful power is shewn; not for pale shadows to return and give thee thanks.

There in the grave, how shall they recount thy mercies; how shall they tell of thy faithfulness, now that life is gone?

How can there be talk of thy marvels in a world of darkness, of thy favour in a land where all is forgotten?

To prayer, Lord, fall I lustily; it shall reach thee, while there is yet time.

Why dost thou reject my plea, Lord, and turn thy face away from me?

Ever since youth, misery and mortal sickness have been my lot; wearily I have borne thy visitations;

I am overwhelmed with thy anger, dismayed by thy threats,

that still cut me off like a flood, all at once surrounding me.

Friends and neighbours gone, a world of shadows is all my company.