The old tear-stained prayerbook will I take in my hand
And call upon the God of my fathers in my distress.
To the God of my fathers who was their Rock and Refuge in ages past,
I will pour out my woe in ancient words,
Seared with the pain of generations.
May these words that know the heavenly pathes
Bring my plaint to the God above,
And tell Him that which is hidden in my heart, -
What my tongue is incapable of expressing.
These words, faithful and true,
Will speak for me before God.
They will ask His pity.
And God in heaven who has heard the prayers of my fathers,
The God who gave them power and srtength -
Perchance He will hear my prayer, too, and my distress,
And will be a Shield unto me as He was unto them.
For, like them, I am left a spoil unto others,
Degraded and despised, a wanderer over the face of the earth.
And there is none who can help and sustain me
Except God in heaven.

By Yaakov Cohen