Explore "On the Eleventh Psalm" by Taras Shevchenko on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Merciful God, how few / Good folk remain on earth.
Behold, each one in heart / Is setting snares for another.
But with fine words, / And lips honey-sweet / They kiss -- and wait / To see how soon / Their brother to his grave / Will find his way.
But Thou who art Lord alone / Shuttest up the evil lips, / That great-speaking tongue / That says: --
"No trifling thing are we, / How glorious shall we show / In intellect and speech.
Who is that Lord / that will forbid / Our thoughts and words?"
Yea, the Lord shall say to Thee / "I shall arise, this day / On their behalf --
People of mine in chains, / The poor and humble ones / These will I glorify.
Little, dumb and slaves are they, / Yet on guard about them / Will I set my Word."
Like trampled grass / Shall perish your thoughts / And words alike.
Like silver, hammered, beaten, / Seven times melted o'er the fire, / Are thy words, Oh Lord.
Scatter these holy words of Thine, / O'er all the earth, / That Thy children / little and poor / May believe in miracles on earth.