Habakkuk

Hymn of the Prophet 1Prayer of Habakkuk, the prophet. To the tune of a dirge.

I have heard the Lord, of your renown; I stand in awe of your work, O Lord. In the middle of the years, make it known; In your wrath, even, remember mercy.

God comes from Teman, the Holy One from Mount Paran. His glory shrouds the heavens, his praise fills the earth,

his splendor is like the daylight with rays flashing from his hand, radiating from his hidden power.

Pestilence goes before him, plague follows close behind.

He stands, and the earth sways; he looks, and the nations tremble. The ancient mountains fall apart, the time-honored hills break down.

I saw the tents of Cushan in trouble, the pavilions of Midian in pain.

Was your anger against the rivers, Lord? Was your rage aimed at the sea that you drive your steeds with your unbreakable chariots?

You bare and prepare your bow, and set your arrow upon it. With rivers, you split the earth.

At your sight, the mountains twist. Torrents of water rage by, the deep roaring, lifting its waves high.

The sun and moon stand still at the glint of your flying arrows, at the gleam of your flashing spears.

You stride across the earth in wrath, trampling the nations in rage.

You come out to redeem your people, to save your anointed one; you crush the head of the wicked, you lay him bare from head to foot.

You pierce his warriors with your shafts, who arrive like a whirlwind to scatter us in joy, to quietly devour the wretched quietly.

You trample the waters with your horses amid the churn of the great seas.

I heard, and my heart raced; my lips trembled at the sound. Decay seeped into my bones; my legs wobbled beneath me. Still, I wait confidently for the day of trouble, when we face the people coming against us.

Even though the fig trees do not blossom, nor do grapes appear on the vines; even if the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food; even if the flock is lost from the fold and the herd is gone from the stalls;

still, I will rejoice in the Lord, I will exult in God my Savior.

My Lord God is my fortress; he makes my feet as swift as hinds; he steadies my steps on the heights. For the choirmaster: with stringed instruments.