Third Psalm

Poem by Théodore Agrippa D'Aubigné Period 16th century

God, what a bristling mass of rebels, what a gathered people!
O how many foolish rumors, and how many vain furies!
They have said: This man is wretched, the poor man is not ready
For any help from this place, nor any strength from God.
But it is a lie told by them: God of my people against my haters
Is the sure and strong shield, against the blow of death.
Through him I lift up my head, he who hears me, he who from his holy mount
So exalted, each time lends an ear to my voice.
So I will go to sleep; no leaps, nor fear will I have.
Then awakened, no fear, dread, nor start will assail me:
I have safety from his hand, from his hand without trouble they have lent
Sleep to the shadow of sound, waking to the dawn of day.
Let the mob come near, run, surround, or entrench itself,
When they besiege me, a thousand in file and in front,
God who has seen the inside of the Evil One, will break his teeth,
With wrath tearing out the heart, tongue, blaspheming palate.
God will know how to guide the salvation of Zion to its goal,
Even fill the hearts of his own and increase them with goods.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son and to the Spirit, source of spirits,
As it is and will be, forever, amen.

Theodore Agrippa d’Aubigne

Translation generated by Poésies 123 with assistance from the deepseek-chat artificial-intelligence model.

Text published on Poésies 123: https://www.poesies123.com/en/poem-third-psalm-theodore-agrippa-d-aubigne/