(For with sons of the field is thy covenant, And the beast of the field Hath been at peace with thee.)

My days have been swifter than a runner, They have fled, they have not seen good,

Who have been cut down unexpectedly, A flood is poured out on their foundation.

In a field his provender they reap, And the vineyard of the wicked they glean.

Who hath divided for the flood a conduit? And a way for the lightning of the voices?

Safe are their young ones, They grow up in the field, they have gone out, And have not returned to them.

And she forgetteth that a foot may press it, And a beast of the field tread it down.

For food do mountains bear for him, And all the beasts of the field play there.

Lo, a flood oppresseth -- he doth not haste, He is confident though Jordan Doth come forth unto his mouth.