Psalm 22: Salvation of Epic Proportions

Come tune the psaltery and the lute,
Prepare your violin and flute,
Warm up your voice to sing my song,
Behold, God hears and rights all wrongs.

The dogs came out…
The sword’s edge keen…
Now lion’s mouth…
And bulls’ horns gleam…
Amidst this dreadful tortuous sea,
God was not far to rescue me.

The dogs He slew by His own hand,
The sword He shattered, ground to sand.
The lion’s fangs He broke and pulled,
He sawed the horns from off the bulls.

I cried, “Hosanna!” and He saved,
Not counting wounds or pain or grave.
He conquered all, including death,
So shall I praise till my last breath.

Arise you fyrds and carls, stand!
Rise regulars, militia bands!
You warriors of the Holy King,
Now praise the Lord! His glory sing!

Though we are putrid, slimed with sin,
The sin like sewage, starved and thin,
God won’t despise this filthy plight,
Of us: abhorrent gutter-snipes.

I’ll praise Him at the greatest feast,
Declaring in the crowded streets.
God teaches me what words to say,
That I might praise Him night and day.

The poor are given food to eat,
My God shall live eternally.
The ends of all the earth shall sing,
All ethnic groups will praise the King.

The mighty of the earth shall bow,
Like snakes to eat the dust of ground
From our posterity proceeds,
A declaration of His deeds.

Come tune your erhu and the pipes,
Prepare the sitar, timbrel, fifes.
A band of all ethnicities,
To praise the Three Eternities.