English
LORD, I heard tell of You, and I feared; LORD, in these years, revive Your work, in these years, make it known; in wrath, remember mercy. God is coming, from Teiman, the Holy One, from Mount Paran, Selah. His glory covers the heavens, His praise fills the earth, its brilliance like light, beams, from His hand, from the hidden place of His might. Plague will go before Him, fire following His feet; He stands, and measures up the land, He looks, and the nations tremble; ancient mountains shatter, age-old hills collapse – the world's ways are His. I saw the tents of Kushan distressed, the curtains of the land of Midian quivering. Is the LORD angry at the rivers – is Your fury against the rivers, Your wrath, against the sea, that You ride upon Your horses, upon Your chariot of deliverance? Your bow is bared, uncovered, according to the promise said to the tribes, Selah. You slice the land into rivers; seeing You, the mountains quake, rushing waters flow past, the deep raises its voice, lifts its hands skyward. The sun, the moon, stand still, in their place – by the light of Your arrows the world goes on, in the brilliance from Your shining spear. In rage, You walk over the land, in fury, You trample nations: You come forth, to deliver Your people, to deliver Your anointed. You crush the head of the house of the wicked, baring the foundation up to its neck, Selah. You pierce with his own sticks the head of his leaders – who come like a storm to scatter me, exultant as though secretly devouring the poor. You drive Your horses through the sea, the mass of raging waters. I hear and my stomach churns, at the sound my lips stutter, a rot enters my bones, I quiver where I stand yet I calmly wait for the day of trouble, when he comes up against the people to attack them. The fig tree does not blossom, and there is no yield from the vines; the olive grows gaunt, and the grain fields grow no food; the sheep are gone from the pens, and there are