Psalm 6

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General Information

1st of the 7 Penitential Psalms.

Settings by composers

See also Domine convertere for settings of v. 5 as the offertory for Sunday within the Octave of Corpus Christi.
See Laboravi in gemitu for settings of v. 7.

Other settings possibly not included in the manual list above

Text and translations

Clementine Vulgate

Latin.png Latin text

1  In finem, in carminibus. Psalmus David. Pro octava.
2  Domine, ne in furore tuo arguas me, neque in ira tua corripias me.
3  Miserere mei, Domine, quoniam infirmus sum; sana me, Domine,
quoniam conturbata sunt ossa mea.
4  Et anima mea turbata est valde; sed tu, Domine, usquequo?
5  Convertere, Domine, et eripe animam meam; salvum me fac propter misericordiam tuam.
6  Quoniam non est in morte qui memor sit tui; in inferno autem quis confitebitur tibi?
7  Laboravi in gemitu meo; lavabo per singulas noctes lectum meum:
lacrimis meis stratum meum rigabo.
8  Turbatus est a furore oculus meus; inveteravi inter omnes inimicos meos.
9  Discedite a me omnes qui operamini iniquitatem, quoniam exaudivit Dominus vocem fletus mei.
10  Exaudivit Dominus deprecationem meam; Dominus orationem meam suscepit.
11  Erubescant, et conturbentur vehementer, omnes inimici mei; convertantur, et erubescant valde velociter.

Douay-Rheims Bible

English.png English translation

Unto the end, in verses, a psalm for David, for the octave.
O Lord, rebuke me not in thy indignation, nor chastise me in thy wrath.
Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak: heal me, O Lord, for my bones are troubled.
And my soul is troubled exceedingly: but thou, O Lord, how long?
Turn to me, O Lord, and deliver my soul: O save me for thy mercy' s sake.
For there is no one in death, that is mindful of thee: and who shall confess to thee in hell?
I have laboured in my groanings, every night I will wash my bed: I will water my couch with my tears.
My eye is troubled through indignation: I have grown old amongst all my enemies.
Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity: for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.
The Lord hath heard my supplication: the Lord hath received my prayer.
Let all my enemies be ashamed, and be very much troubled: let them be turned back, and be ashamed very speedily.

Church of England 1662 Book of Common Prayer

English.png English text

  To the end, in song, a psalm of David, for the octave.
1  O Lord, rebuke me not in thine indignation: neither chasten me in thy displeasure.
2  Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I am weak: O Lord, heal me,
for my bones are vexed.
3  My soul also is sore troubled: but, Lord, how long wilt thou punish me?
4  Turn thee, O Lord, and deliver my soul: O save me for thy mercy's sake.
5  For in death no man remembereth thee: and who will give thee thanks in the pit?
6  I am weary of my groaning; every night wash I my bed:
and water my couch with my tears.
7  My beauty is gone for very trouble: and worn away because of all mine enemies.
8  Away from me, all ye that work vanity: for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.
9  The Lord hath heard my petition: the Lord will receive my prayer.
10  All mine enemies shall be confounded, and sore vexed: they shall be turned back, and put to shame suddenly.

King James Version

English.png English text

1  O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure.
2  Have mercy upon me, O Lord; for I am weak: O Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed.
3  My soul is also sore vexed: but thou, O Lord, how long?
4  Return, O Lord, deliver my soul: oh save me for thy mercies' sake.
5  For in death there is no remembrance of thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks?
6  I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears.
7  Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old because of all mine enemies.
8  Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity; for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping.
9  The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer.
10  Let all mine enemies be ashamed and sore vexed: let them return and be ashamed suddenly.

Luther Bibel

German.png German text

Ein Psalm Davids, vorzusingen auf acht Saiten.
1  Ach, HERR, strafe mich nicht in deinem Zorn und züchtige mich nicht in deinem Grimm!
2  HERR, sei mir gnädig, denn ich bin schwach; heile mich, Herr, denn meine Gebeine sind erschrocken,
3  und meine Seele ist sehr erschrocken. Ach, du HERR, wie lange!
4  Wende dich, HERR, und errette meine Seele; hilf mir um deiner Güte willen!
5  Denn im Tode gedenkt man dein nicht; wer will dir in der Hölle danken?
6  Ich bin so müde vom Seufzen, ich schwemme mein Bette die ganze Nacht und netze mit meinen Tränen mein Lager.
7  Meine Gestalt ist verfallen vor Trauern und ist alt worden; denn ich allenthalben geängstet werde.
8  Weichet von mir, alle Übeltäter; denn der HERR höret mein Weinen,
9  der HERR höret mein Flehen, mein Gebet nimmt der HERR an.
10  Es müssen alle meine Feinde zuschanden werden und sehr erschrecken, sich zurückkehren und zuschanden werden plötzlich

Káldi fordítás

Hungarian.png Hungarian translation

Végig éneklendő, Dávid zsoltára a nyolczadra.
Uram! ne feddj meg engem búsulásodban, és haragodban ne dorgálj meg engem.
Könyörűlj rajtam, Uram! mert erőtlen vagyok; gyógyíts meg engem, Uram! mert reszketnek csontjaim,
és lelkem igen megháboríttatott; de te, Uram! meddig?
Fordúlj meg, Uram! és mentsd ki lelkemet; szabadíts meg engem a te irgalmasságodért.
Mert nincs, ki a halálban megemlékezzék rólad; a pokolban pedig ki fog dicsérni téged?
Elfáradtam fohászkodásomban, megöntözöm minden éjjel ágyamat, megáztatom fekvőhelyemet könyhullatásaimmal.
Meghomályosúlt szemem a búsulás miatt; megaggottam sok ellenségem között.
Távozzatok tőlem mindnyájan, kik gonoszságot cselekesztek; mert meghallgatta az Úr sírásom szavát.
Meghallgatta az Úr könyörgésemet, az Úr bevette imádságomat.
Pirúljanak és fölötte zavarodjanak meg minden ellenségeim; térjenek hátra és pirúljanak meg hirtelen.

Metrical paraphrases

Metrical 'Old Version' (Thomas Sternhold)

English.png English text

1  Lord, in thy wrath, reprove me not,
Though I deserve thine ire:
Nor yet correct me in thy rage,
O Lord, I thee desire.

2  For I am weak, therefore, O Lord,
Of mercy me forbear;
And heal me, Lord, for why? thou know'st
My bones do quake for fear.

3  My soul is troubled very sore,
And vex'd exceedingly;
But, Lord, how long wilt thou delay
To cure my misery?

4  Lord, turn thee to thy wonted grace,
Some pity on me take;
O save me, not for my deserts,
But for thy mercies' sake.

5  For why? no man among the dead
Rememb'reth thee at all;
Or who shall worship thee, O Lord
That in the pit do fall?

6  So grievous is my plaint and moan,
That I grow wond'rous faint;
All the night long I wash my bed
With tears of my complaint.

7  My sight is dim, and waxeth old
With anguish of my heart,
For fear of them that be my foes,
And would my soul subvert.

8  But now depart from me, all ye
That work iniquity;
Because the Lord hath heard the voice
Of my complaint and cry.

9  He heard not only the request
And pray'r of my sad heart,
But it received at my hands,
And took it in good part.

10  And now my foes that vexed me
The Lord will soon defame,
And suddenly confound them all
With great rebuke and shame.

Metrical 'New Version' (Tate/Brady)

English.png English text

1  Thy dreadful anger, Lord, restrain,
And spare a wretch forlorn;
Correct me not in thy fierce wrath,
Too heavy to be borne.

2  Have mercy, Lord, for I grow faint,
Unable to endure
The anguish of my aching bones,
Which thou alone canst cure.

3  My tortur'd flesh distracts my mind,
And fills my soul with grief;
But, Lord, how long wilt thou delay
To grant me thy relief?

4  Thy wonted goodness, Lord, repeat,
And ease my troubled soul;
Lord, for thy wondrous mercy's sake
Vouchsafe to make me whole.

5  For after death no more can I
Thy glorious acts proclaim;
No pris'ner of the silent grave
Can magnify thy Name.

6  Quite tir'd with pain, with groaning faint,
No hope of ease I see;
The night, that quiets common griefs,
Is spent in tears by me.

7  My beauty fades, my sight grows dim,
My eyes with weakness close;
Old age o'ertakes me, whilst I think
On my insulting foes.

8  Depart, ye wicked; in my wrongs
Ye shall no more rejoice;
For God, I find, accepts my tears,
And listens to my voice.

9-10  He hears and grants my humble pray'r;
And they that wish my fall
Shall blush and rage to see that God
Protects me from them all.

Metrical Paraphrase by Isaac Watts

English.png English text

PART 1, (C. M.)
In anger, Lord, rebuke me not;
Withdraw the dreadful storm;
Nor let thy fury grow so hot
Against a feeble worm.

My soul's bowed down with heavy cares,
My flesh with pain oppressed;
My couch is witness to my tears,
My tears forbid my rest.

Sorrow and pain wear out my days,
I waste the night with cries,
Counting the minutes as they pass,
Till the slow morning rise.

Shall I be still tormented more?
Mine eye consumed with grief?
How long, my God, how long before
Thine hand afford relief?

He hears when dust and ashes speak,
He pities all our groans;
He saves us for his mercy's sake,
And heals our broken bones.

The virtue of his sovereign word
Restores our fainting breath;
For silent graves praise not the Lord,
Nor is he known in death.

PART 2. (L. M.)
Lord, I can suffer thy rebukes,
When thou with kindness dost chastise;
But thy fierce wrath I cannot bear:
O let it not against me rise.

Pity my languishing estate,
And ease the sorrows that I feel;
The wounds thine heavy hand hath made,
O let thy gentler touches heal!

See how I pass my weary days
In sighs and groans; and when 'tis night
My bed is watered with my tears;
My grief consumes, and dims my sight.

Look, how the powers of nature mourn!
How long, Almighty God, how long?
When shall thine hour of grace return?
When shall I make thy grace my song?

I feel my flesh so near the grave,
My thoughts are tempted to despair;
But graves can never praise the Lord,
For all is dust and silence there.

Depart, ye tempters, from my soul,
And all despairing thoughts, depart;
My God, who hears lily humble moan,
Will ease my flesh, and cheer my heart.

Geneven Psalter (Clement Marot)

French.png French text

Ne veuilles pas, o Sire,
Me reprendere en con ire,
Moy qui táy irrité,
Ne'en ta fureur terrible
Me punir de l'horrible
Tourment qu'ay merité.

Ains, Seigneur, vien estendre
Sur moy ta pitié rendre:
Car malade me sens.
Santé donques me donne:
Car mon grand mal estonne
Touw mes os & mes sens.

Et mon esprit se trouble
Grandement & au double,
En extreme souci:
O Seigneur plein de grace,
Iusques à qand sera-ce
Que me lairras ainsi?
 

 

Helas, Sire, retourne,
D'entour de moy destourne
Ce merveilleux esmoy.
Certes grande est ma fautes
Mais par ta bonté haute,
Ie te pri'suve moy.

Car en la mort cruelle
Il n'est de toy nouvelle,
Memoire ne renom:
Qui penses-tu qui die,
Qui loue & psalmodie
En la fosse ton Nom?

Toute nuict tant travaille,
Que lict, chalir & paille
En plerus ie fay noyer:
Et en aeau goutte à goutte
S'en va ma couche rout,
Par si fort larmoyer.
 

 

Mon oeil pleurant sans cesse,
De despit & destresse
En un grand trouble est mis:
Il est envieilli d'ire,
 De voir entour moy rire
Me plus grans ennemis.

Sus, sus arriere iniques,
Deslogez tyranniques
De moy tous a la fois
Car le Dieu de bonnaire,
De ma plainte ordinaire
A bien ouy la voix.

Le Seigneur en arriere
N'a point mis ma priere,
Exaucé m'a des cieuz:
Receu a ma demande,
Et ce que luy demande,
Accordé m'a & mieux.
 

 

Donques honteux devienent,
Et pour vaincus se tienent
Mes adversaires tous:
Que chacun d'eux s'eslongne
Subit en gran'vergongne,
Puis que Dieu m'est si doux.
 

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