1. Who, my God, will grant me patience amid my afflictions—

    those of the present, the past, and what is to come?

  2. You created me a poet: were an angel to pass by me,

    hidden from sight, it would draw my attention;

  3. Or the birds sang in the thicket out of joy

    or heartache, my sighs would come to console them;

  4. Or the wind blew gently or in a whirlwind,

    Or thunder and lightning crashed in murky darkness,

  5. Or the sea roared while the waves raged,

    Or the blue heavens sent forth their meteors,

  6. I would sense the spirit in all its wondrous works,

    and express it as feeling in two little verses.

  7. Where can I find patience, when all events

    were created by You to disturb the serenity of my hours?

  8. In the market, in the house, in my sleep, and in

    my sleeplessness, in my fury, in my calm, in my imaginings;

  9. In the dwelling, in the tavern, at celebrations, in

    my merriment among the gardens, and even in my prayers—

  10. In all this I see the specter of misery, which never

    ceases to follow me through all my hours.

  11. And vainly I hope for a day on which I may live

    contented—for I have not sought my revenge.

Sol 6.1