Psalms 42

1 For the end, [a Psalm] for instruction, for the sons of Core. As the hart earnestly desires the fountains of water, so my soul earnestly longs for you, O God.

To victorie, to the sones of Chore. As an hert desirith to the wellis of watris; so thou, God, my soule desirith to thee.

2 My soul has thirsted for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God?

Mi soule thirstide to God, `that is a `quik welle; whanne schal Y come, and appere bifor the face of God?

3 My tears have been bread to me day and night, while they daily said to me, Where is your God?

Mi teeris weren looues to me bi dai and nyyt; while it is seid to me ech dai, Where is thi God?

4 I remembered these things, and poured out my soul in me, for I will go to the place of your wondrous tabernacle, [even] to the house of God, with a voice of exultation and thanksgiving and of the sound of those who keep festival.

I bithouyte of these thingis, and Y schedde out in me my soule; for Y schal passe in to the place of the wondurful tabernacle, til to the hows of God. In the vois of ful out ioiyng and knoulechyng; is the sown of the etere.

5 Therefore are you very sad, O my soul? and therefore do you trouble me? hope in God; for I will give thanks to him; [he is] the salvation of my countenance.

Mi soule, whi art thou sory; and whi disturblist thou me? Hope thou in God, for yit Y schal knouleche to hym; he is the helthe of my cheer,

6 O my God, my soul has been troubled within me: therefore will I remember you from the land of Jordan, and of the Ermonites, from the little hill.

and my God. My soule is disturblid at my silf; therfor, God, Y schal be myndeful of thee fro the lond of Jordan, and fro the litil hil Hermonyim.

7 Deep calls to deep at the voice of your cataracts: all your billows and your waves have gone over me.

Depthe clepith depthe; in the vois of thi wyndows. Alle thin hiye thingis and thi wawis; passiden ouer me.

8 By day the Lord will command his mercy, and manifest [it] by night: with me [is] prayer to the God of my life.

The Lord sente his merci in the dai; and his song in the nyyt.

9 I will say to God, You are my helper; why have you forgotten me? therefore do I go sad of countenance, while the enemy oppresses [me]?

At me is a preier to the God of my lijf; Y schal seie to God, Thou art my `takere vp. Whi foryetist thou me; and whi go Y sorewful, while the enemy turmentith me?

10 While my bones were breaking, they that afflicted me reproached me; while they said to me daily, Where is your God?

While my boonys ben brokun togidere; myn enemyes, that troblen me, dispiseden me. While thei seien to me, bi alle daies; Where is thi God?

11 Therefore are you very sad, O my soul? and therefore do you trouble me? hope in God; for I will give thanks to him; [he is] the health of my countenance, and my God.

Mi soule, whi art thou sori; and whi disturblist thou me? Hope thou in God, for yit Y schal knouleche to hym; `he is the helthe of my cheer, and my God.