For now, I have lain down, and am quiet, I have slept -- then there is rest to me,

The roaring of a lion, And the voice of a fierce lion, And teeth of young lions have been broken.

An old lion is perishing without prey, And the whelps of the lioness do separate.

And it riseth -- as a lion Thou huntest me. And Thou turnest back -- Thou shewest Thyself wonderful in me.

And man hath lain down, and riseth not, Till the wearing out of the heavens they awake not, Nor are roused from their sleep.

Nor trodden it have the sons of pride, Not passed over it hath the fierce lion.

Who placed its measures -- if thou knowest? Or who hath stretched out upon it a line?

Dost thou hunt for a lion prey? And the desire of young lions fulfil?