‘End this my vision’

End this my vision,

O Lord of my life —

may the juices of the flowered vine

run down no longer.

Cease from offering thy fruits,

that I might spare mine eyes this wicked sight:

the scholar and the scribe,

and the destroyer,

hastening the end of all thy children.

Would, O Lord, that I had been borne forth

from off my mother to the stable shade

an empty husk.

Be my brothers thus so unreformed,

so unrepentant?

Let them die.

But thou dost blow me out till I am parched;

you wring me blood from bone;

I have no rest —

this, the recompense to those who serve you.

Bring me, O Shepherd, not to the conclusion

I lie awake and tear my heart in vain;

for your mercies stand forever.

I walk as evidence that you alone

fail not; you trail the humble man anew each day.

I will stand upon my bed and sing aloud:

a song for Zion, a dirge for the Redeemer;

a mighty victory to the sound of horns;

a note of hope to all those doomed to die.