O, you, source of ceaseless sorrows,
A heart that hopelessness inhabits
Makes its plaint of pain to you, 4658
A plaint that comes to nought.
Munificence, lady, its life, its death,
Rests in the palms of your hands.
You, malediction and deliverance,
Mouth that mitigates all maladies,
Administered my poisoned dose.
So judge and, in judging, know-
That resignation exalts me.