Psalm 73, An Expressive Transliteration

To Israel, truly God is good, to those
who’re pure of heart. But as for me, my feet
had nearly slipped; I’d almost fallen, tripped.
The proud, I envied their prosperity.

I never saw them feeling any pain.
Their bodies always seeming sleek and sound.
They don’t partake, misfortunes others have.
They, unafflicted, unlike those around.

Therefore their pride, they like a necklace wear.
Their violence wrapped ‘round them like a cloak.
Iniquity they have comes from gross minds.
With wicked thoughts, their hearts will overflow.

They scoff and also speak maliciously.
Their haughtiness, oppression, planned from there.
Against the heavens, how they set their mouths.
Spoke evil through the world, it’s everywhere.

And so the people rather turn to them
and them, they do not see as profligate.
They say, “How should God know, what knowledge had,
how can the Most High God be cognizant?”

So then, these are the wicked, all at ease.
To heap up endless wealth is their intent.
In vain, have I, my heart, its cleanness, kept.
I, useless, washed my hands in innocence.

I’ve been afflicted all throughout the day
and punished daily in the morning time.
If I continued speaking in this way,
betrayed your children’s children as my crime.

When understanding of these things attempt,
I find my reach is far beyond my grasp.
Until God’s sanctuary, entered in,
and there perceived the wickeds’ future lapsed.

In slipp’ry places, where you, them, have set.
You cast them down into a certain ruin.
How suddenly, destruction, they arrive,
in terror, perish; at their end, their doom.

Like when awakened from a dream, O LORD,
when I arise, the image disappears.
My mind embittered, sore within my heart,
that wound. My understanding lacked — I feared

that I was stupid, just like a brute beast.
Yet I am with you always by your side.
By my right hand, you hold me, as my guide.
You, on your counsel, always I relied.

With glory that you allocate to me.
Whom do I have in heaven if not you?
And having you lack nothing on the earth,
though heart and flesh will waste and not renew.

God, my heart’s strength, my portion evermore.
For those forsaking you are perishing.
You bring destruction to unfaithful men,
but near to you, God, I am flourishing.

I’ve made the LORD my refuge certainly.
I’ll speak of all your works most openly.
The city gates of Zion, locally.

Psalm 44

We’ve heard of all of it with our own ears,
O God; our ancestors, they told to us
that, what you did for them, in bygone years,
back in their days, the peoples that you crushed.

Was by your hand, the nations you drove out.
Our ancestors, you planted, flourishing
are they. Not by their sword, there is no doubt,
how they have won the land, their victory —

not by their arm, but rather, your right hand,
your arm, and by your countenance’s light,
for them, you loved — possessed them with the land.
You are my King, my God, the heavens write

of Jacob’s victories. Through you, we push
back all our enemies; and through your name,
we trample all our foes. I put no trust
in bow, nor sword, will victory, me, gain;

but you give vic’try o’er our enemies,
and put our adversaries all to shame.
In God we make our boast unceasingly.
Forever, all day long, we praise your name.

But you rejected, humbled us, complete.
No longer, armies, ours, accompany.
You made us to retreat from enemies.
Our adversaries and their plundering.

You gave us up to be devoured like sheep.
You scattered us among the nations wide.
Your people for a pittance, sold for cheap.
No profit from the sale that you derived.

You made us a reproach to neighbors ‘round.
We now are scorn, derision to them all.
We’re now a byword that the nations sound.
They shake their heads at us — they feel appalled.

I live in my disgrace all of my days.
My face with shame is covered like a tent.
Reviling and reproaching taunts they say —
my enemies, upon revenge are bent.

All this upon us came despite the fact
that we had not forgotten you; we had
not falsely, with your covenant, took acts.
Our hearts from you were never turning back.

Our feet not strayed, your designated path.
But yet you crushed us, for the jackals, haunts,
is what you made us. Darkness, in your wrath,
you deeply covered us. Our paths, you daunt.

If we’d forgotten that, his name, our God’s,
or to some foreign god we spread our hands,
if God had not discovered, something odd;
the secrets of our hearts, he understands.

Yet for your sake, we’re facing death all day;
like slaughtering for sheep, for us, in store.
Why do you sleep, LORD, please arise, awake!
Please rouse yourself; forever, don’t ignore.

Why do you hide your face? You soon forgot
our misery, oppression, that we feel.
Down to the dust, the place where we’ve been brought.
Your mercy on your servants please reveal.

Rise up and help us, saving from above.
Please rescue us for your unfailing love.

Psalm 42

Just as the deer, for streams of water, pants,
so too my soul, a manner similar.
My thirsting soul, the living God, it wants.
When can we meet, become familiar?

For day and night, my tears have been my food,
while people to me say this all day long:
“Where is your God?” These things I never would
forget as I pour out my soul, my song:

how I would go into the house of God,
the Mighty one with his protective shield.
With joy and praise, we give our high applause
among the festive throng, but what I feel:

why you, my soul, are so downcast within?
Why do I feel disturbances this way?
Now put your hope in God. I will again
praise him, my righteous God, the one who Saves!

My soul again is downcast within me;
therefore, my LORD, I will remember you
from Jordan’s land to Hermon’s heights I see,
from Mount Mizar, my hope in you renewed.

Deep calls to deep; the waterfalls, their roar.
Your waves and breakers, they swept over me.
By day, his love, what he directs, the LORD.
At night, his song with me assuringly:

a prayer to God, the master of my life.
To God my Rock: “Why’ve you forgotten me?
Why must I go with mourning, feeling strife —
that close oppression of the enemy?”

In mortal agony, my suff’ring bones.
My foes, they taunt; their faithless question asked:
“Where is your God?” — their constant, nagging drone.
My downcast soul, my confidence is tasked.

In God, the place to store your hope within.
My Savior and my God, I’ll praise again!

Henri Meyer – Affiche Le Roi Carotte – 1892