Verse > Anthologies > Joseph Friedlander, comp. > The Standard Book of Jewish Verse
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Joseph Friedlander, comp.  The Standard Book of Jewish Verse.  1917.
 
Psalm VII
By Alfred S. Schiller-Szinessy
 
O LORD, my God, in Thee I put my trust,
  From them that persecute me save and guard;
Lest I be straight confounded in the dust,
  And they, like raving lions tearing hard,
Devour my captive soul in furious lust,        5
  By no deliverer in their conquest marred.
O Lord, my God, if I have done this wrong
Or if aught wicked be my deeds among;
 
If I have evil wrought unto my friend,
  If I have not preserved alive my foe,        10
Let then the enemy my body rend
  And o’er my spirit the proud victor go.
Let him my fame with base dishonor blend,
  And crush my life upon the earth below.
Stand up, O Lord, in anger at my foes,        15
Who in fierce indignation ’gainst me rose!
 
Arise, O Lord, and fight on my behalf,
  Give judgment for me as Thou hast ordained!
So shall with joy the congregation laugh,
  And flock around, in reverence constrained.        20
Then for this cause lift up Thy mighty staff,
  For those whose trust is on Thy power contained!
All men our God shall judge, help me, O Lord!
Heed Thou my righteousness and upright word!
 
May soon ungodly ways decay and cease,        25
  And Thy protection aid the humble just!
The hearts and inmost veins th’ Almighty sees,
  For help from God appearing is my lust.
Unto the true of heart He giveth ease,
  Nor will permit them to lie in the dust.        30
A righteous Judge is God, patient and strong,
And each day angered by a sinning throng.
 
Will they not hear, th’ avenging sword He whets,
  Doth bend His bow and towers aloft in ire;
The instruments of death to hand He sets,        35
  Against the persecutor’s arrows dire.
All fruitless are the plots my foe begets;
  Sorrow doth he conceive, of ill the sire.
Graven hath he, and digged a noisome pit;
By him prepared, he falleth into it.        40
 
Upon his head shall his bad works return,
  His wickedness recoil upon his pate;
In self-inflicted torments shall he burn
  And pain of soul that none can satiate.
But I in grateful thanks to God will turn        45
  And all His righteousness will celebrate.
The name of God our Lord will I extol,
And to the heavens my tongue His fame shall roll.
 
 
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