Treasure Island

Mikolaj Sep Szarzynski

(1550 - 1581 / Poland)

Song I


Dear people, swelled in fool's wisdom
And clinging to error so fanciful,
To the skies, adorned in hosts of fair stars,
Look up - and make bright your dimlit minds!

Know ye that 'tis a wise Lord, an eternal
Lord there with palace midst fiery vault,
Whereon airy voids He's fastened high
And great waters freed of earth's pondrance.

Day, at times fixed, to night's shadow ceding;
Night, at times fixed, ceding unto the day,
Thus do testify with course so concordant
That 'twas no mere chance earth came to be.

The sky's mechanics, fashioned in accord,
Proclaim 'tis God's wisdom, His endless might
That ever sways them, and o'er a vast
Earth is this voice heard on all ears.

For in no haunt of the habited world
Be there people so basely simple
They'd mark not that a faultless law
Sways the heavens, for no time doth it err.

Who, when a cloud veils not the heavens,
Looks unamazed on the stars' bright lustre?
Or when the sun doth his eyes assail with
Light, whilst reeling in its flaming arc?

Rising forth from his bridesbed,
Groom-like, adorned in raiments
Of pure gold, a crown of priceless
Gems glowing radiant o'er his brow,

From a full course not leastwise spent,
Forceful he plunges! Well he's likened
In his shape, strength, and speed,
To the behemoth of a hundred limbs.

Soaring from the east to where dark night
Ascends, light he adds to the stars;
And whatsoever be on a low earth,
He begets and nurtures by his flames.

But order in the lofty firmament
Draws a viewers' thoughts less so,
Than doth Thine own law, Lord, to propriety
Turn the senses and lay waste desire.

No change do Thy promises know,
And with truth's glow our hearts they affirm;
Thou so dost punish should one offend,
That in him Thy sacred suffering works gain.

Thy commandment delights our eyes
With grateful bliss, O Lord, and forms
Thy true glory which age injures not,
Whilst with steely tooth it crumbles all.

In Thine Edicts, guarding them heedfully,
Truth and piety all times abide;
Sweeter they are than honey, greater
Yet than gilded metal and rare jewels.

'Tis why, in his heart, Lord, Thy servant
Shall ne'er cease minding them duly,
Knowing the reward Thou hast readied
For each who would keep them always.

Yet who is it marks all his failings?
O God forever, cleanse me Thyself,
Do away with my sundry misdeeds
Whence unknowingly I am sullied.

And grant pride's force, hideous
To Thee, would enter not in my heart.
So wouldst Thou forever, with no travail,
Cast off the fetters of my great impiety.

Words from my mouth, this meek thought
From an abased heart, deign accept,
Lord, I beg Thee! For Thou art salvation,
My God, my Hope, my Sustinance...

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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