תֶר מַלְכוּת — Confession
Shame-stricken, bending low,
My God, I come before Thee, for I know
That even as Thou on high
Exalted art in power and majesty,
So weak and frail am I:
That perfect as Thou art,
So I deficient am in every part.
Thou art all-wise, all-good, all-great, divine,
Yea, Thou art God: eternity is Thine;
While I, a thing of clay,
The creature of a day,
Pass shadow-like, a breath, that comes and flees away.
My God, I know my sins are numberless,
More than I can recall to memory
Or tell their tale: yet some will I confess,
Even a few, though as a drop it be
In all the sea.
I will declare my trespasses and sin,
And peradventure silence then may fall
Upon their waves and billows’ raging din,
And Thou wilt hear from heaven, when I call,
And pardon all.
My God, if mine iniquity
Too great for all endurance be,
Yet for Thy name’s sake pardon me.
For if in Thee I may not dare
To hope, who else will hear my prayer?
Therefore, although Thou slay me, yet
In Thee my faith and trust is set:
And though Thou seekest out my sin,
From Thee to Thee I fly to win
A place of refuge, and within
Thy shadow from Thy anger hide,
Until Thy wrath be turned aside.
Unto Thy mercy I will cling
Until Thou hearken, pitying:
Nor will I quit my hold of Thee
Until Thy blessing light on me.
Remember, O my God, I pray,
How Thou hast formed me out of clay,
What troubles set upon my way.
Do Thou not, then, my deeds requite
According to my sins aright,
But with Thy mercy infinite.
For well I know, through good and ill,
That Thou in love hast chastened still,
Afflicting me in faithfulness,
That Thou my latter end may’st bless.
SOLOMON IBN GABIROL, 1050.
(Trans. Alice Lucas.)