# Songs of Exile/I Am the Suppliant

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I AM THE SUPPLIANT
Baruch ben Samuel died in Mayence in 1221. He wrote Talmudical commentarics and works in law, besides many poems for the synagogue. I am the Suppliant is a Selichah recited in the Musaf Service of the Day of Atonement.
Stanza 2, line 1, Jeremiah iv, 19.
Stanza 7, line 4, Lamentations i, 1.
Stanza 13, line 4, Lamentations i, 18,
Stanza 15, line 4, Genesis xxvii, 2.
Stanza 16, line 4, Psalm xxxix, 13.
Stanza 17, line 2, Hosea i, 6; line 3, Psalm xvii, 1.
Stanza 18, line 4, Numbers xi, 15.
Stanza 19, line 4, Jonah ii, 8.
Stanza 21, line 4, Psalm xxx, 10.
Stanza 22, line 4, Genesis xxxvii, 7.
Stanza 23, line 4, Genesis xlviii, 19,
Stanza 25, line 3, Psalm cxix, 176.
Stanza 26, line 4, Genesis xliv, 28.
Stanza 27, line 4, Song of Songs v, 6.
Stanza 30, line 4, Genesis xxxiii, 11,
Stanza 31, line 4, Genesis xxix, 19.
Stanza 32, line 4, Lamentations, iii, 56.
I am the Suppliant
By Baruch ben Samuel
I AM the suppliant for my people here, Yea, for the House of Israel, I am he; I seek my God's benign and heedful ear, For words that rise from me.
Amid the walls of hearts that stand around, My bitter sighs surge up and mount the sky; Ah! how my heart doth pant with ceaseless bound For God, my Rock on high.
With mighty works and wondrous He hath wrought, Lord of my strength, my God. When me He bade To make a sanctuary for Him, I sought, I labored, and 'twas made. ​The Lord, my God, He hath fulfilled His word;— He ruleth as an all-consuming fire;— I came with sacrifice, my prayer He heard, Then granted my desire.
My sprinkling He accepted at the dawn Of this, the holiest day, the chosen one, When with the daily offering of the morn The High Priest had begun.
And when the services thereafter came, In glorious order, each a sacred rite, I, bending low, and calling on the Name, Confessed before His sight.
The holy Priests, the ardent, for their sin Upon this day made their atonement then, With blood of bullocks and of goats, within The city full of men. ​The Priest with glowing censer seemed as one Preparing for the pure a way by fire. Then with two rams I came, e'en as a son That cometh to his sire.
The bathings and ablutions, as 'twas meet, Were all performed according to their way; Then passed before the throne of God complete The service of the day.
And when sweet strains of praise to glorify Burst forth in psalmody and songs of love, Yea, when I heard the voice uplifted high, I raised my hand above.
The rising clouds of incense, mantling o'er The mercy-seat, lent savor to its grace: Then glory filled me, and my soul would soar To yon exalted place. ​Of ancient times I dream, of vanished days; Now wild disquiet rageth unrestrained; Scorned and reproached by all, from godly ways Have I, alas, refrained.
Afar mine eyes have strayed, and I have erred, And deaf I made mine ears, their listening quelled; And righteous is the Lord, for at His word I sorely have rebelled.
Perverseness have I loved, and wrongful thought, And hating good, strove righteousness to shun, And in mine actions foolishness have wrought; Great evil have I done.
Pardon, I pray Thee, our iniquity, O God, from Thine high dwelling, and behold The souls that in affliction weep to Thee— For lo! I have grown old. ​Work for me, I beseech Thee, marvels now, O Lord of Hosts! in mercy lull our fears; Answer with potent signs, and be not Thou Silent unto my tears.
Open Thine hand exalted, nor revile The hearts not comforted, but pierced with care, Praying with fervent lips, that know not guile, O hearken to my prayer!
Look Thou upon my sorrow, I implore, But not upon the sin that laid me low; Judge, God, the cause of mine affliction sore; Let me not see my woe.
O Thou, my Maker! I have called on Thee, Pictured my thought to Thee, pronounced my word; And at the time my spirit failed in me, Remembered I the Lord. ​Behold my wound, O Thou Who giv'st relief! Let me Thine ears with voice of weeping win; Seek in Thy mercy balsam for my grief, But seek not for my sin.
Give ear unto my voice, O list my call! And give me peace, for Thou art great to save. What profit is there in my blood, my fall Down low unto the grave?
But [ unceasing will declare Thy praise; Grant my atonement, though I sinned so oft. Bring not my word to nothingness, but raise My fallen sheaf aloft.
Redeem Thy son, long sold to bondage grim, And on his substance let Thy blessing flow; How long, O Lord, ere Thou wilt say to him, "I know, my son, I know. ​"I see thee heavy-laden with thy care, With sorrow's burden greater than thy strength; I hear thee wailing: yea, but I will spare, And will redeem at length."
And now, O my Redeemer, lo! behold The chains that bind me 'neath their cruel sway, And seek Thy servant, wandered from the fold, A lost sheep, gone astray.
Beauty's perfection lieth fallen low, Broken and waste, which stood in majesty; The glory is gone forth, and fled, for woe! The One went out from me.
My strong bars He hath broken every one; He hath been wroth with me: I am bereft. For my belov'd hath turned aside and gone, A desert am I left. ​My gates are sunken, they that stood so high; My sacred doors are shattered and laid waste; Lo! they are moved and vanished hence; and I Am humbled and disgraced.
Dumb are mine advocates in mine appeal, High in their pride my scorners raise their crest; They quench my light, they darkly do conceal My welfare and my rest,
O Lord, my God! all strength doth dwell in Thee, O hear my voice, as humbly here I bow; And let the sentence of Thy judgment be, "Take thou my blessing now."
Behold me fallen low from whence I stood, And mine assembly with compassion see; And this my soul, mine only one, 'tis good To give it unto Thee. ​Take back Thy son once more, and draw him near; Hide not from him the radiance of Thine eye, Turn not away, but bend a favoring ear Unto my plaint, my cry.