You have turned my mourning into dancing for me; You have torn off my sackcloth, and have clothed me with gladness,

But at my stumbling they rejoiced and gathered together; smiters whom I did not know gathered against me. They tore and did not cease.

You have made the land tremble. You have torn it. Mend its fractures, for it quakes.

He brought them out of darkness and gloom, and tore off their bonds.

Blessed be the Lord,
Who has not given us to be torn by their teeth.

We have escaped like a bird from the hunter’s net;
the net is torn, and we have escaped.