Habakkuk.
Chapter 3.
A prayer of Habakkuk the prophet, set on shigionoth: 
O YHWH, I heard your report, || I have been afraid, O YHWH, || Your work! In midst of years revive it, || In the midst of years You make known, || In anger You remember mercy. 
God comes from Teman, || The Holy One from Mount Paran. Pause! His splendor has covered the heavens, || And His praise has filled the earth. 
And the brightness is as the light, || He has rays out of His hand, || And there—the hiding of His strength. 
Before Him goes pestilence, || And a burning flame goes forth at His feet. 
He has stood, and He measures earth, || He has seen, and He shakes off nations, || And mountains of antiquity scatter themselves, || The hills of old have bowed, || The ways of old are His. 
Under sorrow I have seen tents of Cushan, || Curtains of the land of Midian tremble. 
Has YHWH been angry against rivers? Against rivers is Your anger? Is Your wrath against the sea? For You ride on Your horses—Your chariots of salvation. 
You make Your bow utterly naked, || The tribes have sworn, saying, “Pause!” You cleave the earth with rivers. 
Seen You—pained are mountains, || An inundation of waters has passed over, || The deep has given forth its voice, || It has lifted up its hands high. 
Sun—moon—has stood—a habitation, || Your arrows go on at the light, || At the brightness, the glittering of Your spear. 
In indignation You tread earth, || In anger You thresh nations. 
You have gone forth for the salvation of Your people, || For salvation with Your Anointed, || You have struck the head of the house of the wicked, || Laying bare the foundation to the neck. Pause! 
You have pierced the head of his leaders with his own rods, || They are tempestuous to scatter me, || Their exultation is as to consume the poor in secret. 
You have proceeded through the sea with Your horses—the clay of many waters. 
I have heard, and my belly trembles, || At the noise have my lips quivered, || Rottenness comes into my bones, || And in my place I tremble, || That I rest for a day of distress, || At the coming up of the people, he overcomes it. 
Though the fig tree does not flourish, || And there is no produce among vines, || The work of the olive has failed, || And fields have not yielded food, || The flock has been cut off from the fold, || And there is no herd in the stalls, 
Yet I, in YHWH I exult, || I am joyful in the God of my salvation. 
YHWH the Lord is my strength, || And He makes my feet like does, || And causes me to tread on my high-places. To the overseer with my stringed instruments!
