I would hasten mine escape, From rushing wind, from storm.

Show me favour, O God, Show me favour, For, in thee, hath my soul sought refuge, - And, in the shadow of thy wings, will I seek refuge, Until the storm of ruin pass by.

So, wilt thou pursue them with thy tempest, - And, with thy storm-wind, wilt terrify them:

Where the birds build their nests, The stork, in the fir-trees, hath her house;

He calmeth the storm to a whisper, and silent are their rolling waves: