hymn and probable translation

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hymn and probable translation

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hymn ty gyd my gyd yn my sycknyss

thyt y myy nyvyr fryy mysylf frym thy yngyls yf thy yslynds

thyt y myy wrythy yn pyyn, lyky sy mych cyntrybynd

y cynnyt yn gyyd myysyry yscyrtyyn thys

my hyyd ys thy syty yf yxcyvytyyns

my yrms flyyl ygyynst thy wyrk yf thy lyrd

hys hysts dystyrb my ynd hys mynyyns yry yn tryymph

yvyr yll cryytyyn thyy yry yn tryymph

my hynds tyngly wyth thy flysh yf thy slyyghtyryd

my fyryhyyd ys thy hyst yf yrmyd myryydyrs

yyy thyygh y wylk yn thyyr fyylds

yyy thyygh thyy dy nyt yyyld y thyysyndth yf thyyr gryyn

thyyr fyydstyrys y knyw thym nyt nyr thyyr gyrnyryd tymplys

by yll yccyynts nyyght ys knywn yf thym

y ym by yll yccyynts y hymn ty gyd my gyd

yn my sycknyss y ym knywn ynd yn my pyyn y knywyth nyt

y dy ynryvyl ynd my mynd ynryvyls

y dy wyyvy ynd yn thy myrn my wyyvyng ys yndyny

my bydy shyvyrs wyth yncyyntybly fyvyrs ynd vyylyncy

my yyrs ryng wythyn thy ryngyng yf my yyrs

my hyyrtbyyt ymyng thym

my hyyrtbyyt cyntynyys byt ys cyyntyng dywn

y hyyr nythyng rymymbyr nythyng

y ym lyst ynd ym y lysyng gyny

y ym yn dyyth ynd ym y dyyng gyny

yn my sycknyss y wytch mysylf ynd y ym tykyng nyty

ynd yf thys yccyyntyncy, thys ys y gyft fyr yyy

thys spyykyng frym thy fytyry yntyryyr

thys ylryydy cyllyng fyrth fyr thy symmyns yf thy bydy

fyrgyvy my y lyrd yn my sycknyss

fyrgyvy my fyr thy wyrds y spyyk fyr thyy spyykyth nyt

nyr dy thyy syynd thy trympyts yf thy hyly

nyr thy wylls yf thy cyty wythyn ynd wythyyt

nyr dy thyy syynd, nyr dy thyy syynd

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hymn to god my god in my sickness

that i may never free myself from the angels of the islands

that i may writhe in pain, like so much contraband

i cannot in good measure ascertain this

my head is the site of excavations

my arms flail against the work of the lord

his hosts disturb me and his minions are in triumph

over all creation they are in triumph

my hands tingle with the flesh of the slaughtered

my forehead is the host of armed marauders

yea though i walk in their fields

yea though they do not yield a thousandth of their grain

their foodstores i know them not nor their garnered temples

by all accounts naught is known of them

i am by all accounts a hymn to god my god

in my sickness i am known and in my pain i knoweth not

i do unravel and my mind unravels

i do weave and in the morn my weaving is undone

my body shivers with uncountable fevers and violence

my ears ring within the ringing of my ears

my heartbeat among them

my heartbeat continues but is counting down

i hear nothing remember nothing

i am lost and am a losing gone

i am in death and am a dying gone

in my sickness i watch myself and i am taking note

and of this accountancy, this is a gift for you

this speaking from the future anterior

this already calling forth for the summons of the body

forgive me o lord in my sickness

forgive me for the words i speak for they speaketh not

nor do they sound the trumpets of the holy

nor the walls of the city within and without

nor do they sound, nor do they sound

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