In the day thy plant thou causest to become great, And in the morning thy seed makest to flourish, A heap is the harvest in a day of overflowing, And of mortal pain.

Therefore filled have been my loins with great pain, Pangs have seized me as pangs of a travailing woman, I have been bent down by hearing, I have been troubled by seeing.

Lo, My servants sing from joy of heart, And ye cry from pain of heart, And from breaking of spirit ye do howl.