The mountains, have seen thee - they tremble, a downpour of waters, hath passed along, - the roaring deep, hath given forth, his voice, on high - his hand, hath he uplifted.

Sun, moon, have stood still, on high, - like light, thine arrows, speed along, like brightness, is the flash of thy spear.

Thou hast pierced, with his own staves, the head of his chiefs, they storm along, to scatter me, - their exultant thought, is, in very deed, to devour the oppressed one, in a secret place!

Yahweh, My Lord, is my strength, therefore hath he made my feet like hinds, and, upon my high places, will he cause me to march along. To the chief musician, on my double harp.