Then passed on hath the spirit, Yea, he doth transgress, And doth ascribe this his power to his god.

Art not Thou of old, O Jehovah, my God, my Holy One? We do not die, O Jehovah, For judgment Thou hast appointed it, And, O Rock, for reproof Thou hast founded it.

Thou hast counselled a shameful thing to thy house, To cut off many peoples, and sinful is thy soul.

God from Teman doth come, The Holy One from mount Paran. Pause! Covered the heavens hath His majesty, And His praise hath filled the earth.

Though the fig-tree doth not flourish, And there is no produce among vines, Failed hath the work of the olive, And fields have not yielded food, Cut off from the fold hath been the flock, And there is no herd in the stalls.

Yet I, in Jehovah I exult, I do joy in the God of my salvation.