Before the mountains were born
before the earth or the world came to birth,
you were God from all eternity and for ever.
You can turn man back into dust by saying,
"Back to what you were, you sons of men!"
To you, a thousand years are a single day,
a yesterday now over, an hour of the night.
You brush men away like waking dreams,
they are like grass sprouting and flowering
in the morning,
withered and dry before dusk.
We too are burnt up by your anger
and terrified by your fury;
having summoned up our sins
you inspect our secrets by your own light.
Our days dwindle under your wrath,
our lives are over in a breath
--our life lasts for seventy years,
eighty with good health,
but they all add up to anxiety and trouble
over in a trice, and then we are gone.
Who yet has felt the full force of your fury,
or learnt to fear the violence of your rage?
Teach us to count how few days we have
and so gain wisdom of heart.
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