Who giveth rain, upon the face of the earth, and sendeth forth waters, over the face of the open fields;

Oh that, weighed, were my vexation, and, my engulfing ruin - into the balances, they would lift up all at once!

Is there, in my tongue, perversity? Or can, my sense, not discern, engulfing ruin?

My flesh is clothed with worms and a coating of dust, My skin, hath hardened, and then run afresh:

For ruin, there is contempt, in the thought of the man at ease, - ready, for such as are of faltering foot!

He used to run against him with uplifted neck, with the stout bosses of his bucklers;

He made a breach in me, breach upon breach, He ran upon me, like a mighty man.

It shall be that, to fill his belly, he will thrust at him the glow of his anger, and rain it upon him for his punishment.

With the sweeping rain of the mountains, are they wet, and, through having no shelter, they embrace a rock.

When he made, for the rain, a decree, and a way for the lightning of thunders,

And they waited, as for rain, for me, and, their mouths, they opened wide for the spring-rain;

They brake up my path, - My engulfing ruin, they helped forward, unaided;

That impious men may not reign, nor be ensnarers of the people.

For he draweth up drops of water, They trickle as rain through his mist;

For, to the snow, he saith, Fall earthwards, - Also to the downpour of rain, yea the downpour of his mighty rains.

To give rain over the no-man's land, the desert, where no son of earth is;

Hath the rain a father? Or who hath begotten the drops of dew?

Canst thou bind the wild-ox, so that - with the ridge - shall run his cord? Or will he harrow the furrows after thee?