To the Overseer, on `The Hind of the Morning.' -- A Psalm of David. My God, my God, why hast Thou forsaken me? Far from my salvation, The words of my roaring?
What! bowest thou thyself, O my soul? And what! art thou troubled within me? Wait for God, for still I confess Him, The salvation of my countenance, and my God!
What! bowest thou thyself, O my soul? Yea, art thou troubled within me? Wait for God, for still I confess Him: The salvation of my countenance -- My God!
When thou passest into waters, I `am' with thee, And into floods, they do not overflow thee, When thou goest into fire, thou art not burnt, And a flame doth not burn against thee.
It is not said of thee any more, `Forsaken!' And of thy land it is not said any more, `Desolate,' For to thee is cried, `My delight `is' in her,' And to thy land, `Married,' For Jehovah hath delighted in thee, And thy land is married.
Though the fig-tree doth not flourish, And there is no produce among vines, Failed hath the work of the olive, And fields have not yielded food, Cut off from the fold hath been the flock, And there is no herd in the stalls.
`Remember the word that I said to you, A servant is not greater than his lord; if me they did persecute, you also they will persecute; if my word they did keep, yours also they will keep;