Trio Gintrowski Kaczmarski Łapiński - Kantyczka z lotu ptaka

Look my merciful Lord
at your favorite mortals,
how they go every morning to the cornfield
to bend their pride necks with difficulty.
Look how they lean down working,
how humbly they tolerate disasters
not asking - Why? What for?
Sometimes they ask you for something:

- Give us a little grace of Heavens!
Give us peace in return for the bread!
Grant others with your love!
Us - with justice!

-Be sad, you Lord Almighty in the clouds,
seeing how the people amuse themselves,
they would like to bulwark you again
and to wallow in the pagan blood.
There's a smoke over the smithies and the workshops,
but not because of work, but because of complaints,
that your love for thy troops
is not the same, as it was earlier:

- The devilish forces threaten you,
give us a chance to be glorified, oh Lord!
Calvin, Lithuanian insult us!
We will carry the Cross!

-Throw up your hands Our Lady;
the social mores collapse,
the flogging have not helped the prayers -
the adolescent fight against their bodies.
The hot blood mates in misery,
without conscience, without breath,
and then from their bellies they throw out
an immature fruit of a sin.

- Salvation or hell? We don't care!
Most important - don't let the life run away!
The time to die is still to come!
Let us live here and now!

-All Saints, shout with anger -
the trade floods the mortals,
foreign merchants and customers
lure it in the gold collars.
The greedy Jew and German counts
what is worth the Polish purity today;
he'll buy all souls, all land
and he'll leave a mockery behind...(3x)

- The disgrace has no value for us when Thalers
have a higher exchange rate than the faith!
We will exchange for money
the honor and the penance!(2x)

-One nation and so many issues!
You're not able to listen to all of them! -
The Saints become lost in thoughts
in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit...(3x)