Bitterness, Oh Lord, has taken root against me.
It has sprung up and choked the very life from me.
When will you, the Gardener of my heart, pluck it from my presence?
It steals away the joy of my salvation, and I am left melancholy.
How am I to bear fruit, Oh great Tender of my soil?
If it robs me of my nourishment and I am left destitute,
I will surely perish to a withered shell.
Yet, I trust in you because you are ever faithful and patient.
I know you are full aware of what has set itself in opposition to me.
It is also within my grasp to know that you desire a good yield.
If it seems good to you to be tried by that which is set against me,
I also know that my roots will grow deeper as a means of survival.
In due season, so as to reap what I am able to present before you,
While also destroying that which has risen against me.
You are to be praised for your wisdom.
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