“For you will be in league with the stones of the field,
And the beasts of the field will be at peace with you.

“They sing to the timbrel and harp
And rejoice at the sound of the flute.

‘Clouds are a hiding place for Him, so that He cannot see;
And He walks on the vault of heaven.’

“They harvest their fodder in the field
And glean the vineyard of the wicked.

“Terrors overtake him like a flood;
A tempest steals him away in the night.

“Therefore my harp is turned to mourning,
And my flute to the sound of those who weep.

“Who has cleft a channel for the flood,
Or a way for the thunderbolt,

“Their offspring become strong, they grow up in the open field;
They leave and do not return to them.

“Surely the mountains bring him food,
And all the beasts of the field play there.