For with the stones of the field they covenant, and the beast of the field was at peace with thee.

And if not my help in me? and deliverance fled from me?

My days were swift above a runner: they fled, they saw not good.

And the eyes of the unjust shall be consumed, and flight shall perish from them, and their hope a breathing out of the soul.

In the field they will harvest his meslin, and they will glean the vintage of the unjust one.

By his spirit he polished the heavens; his hand pierced the flat serpent

And she will forget that the foot will press it, and the beast of the field will crush it

For the mountains shall lift up produce for him, and all the beasts of the field shall play there.