Blessed be Yahweh my mountain, * who trained my hands for warfare, * my arms for battle.

    My rampart and my fortress, * my bulwark and refuge,

    my Master, in him I trust, * who prostrated peoples at my feet.

        Yahweh, what is man that you care about him, * the son of man that you think about him?

        Man is like the vapor; * his days like a passing shadow.

           Yahweh, bow your heavens and descend; * touch the mountains, make them smoke.

           Flash your bolts and scatter them; * forge your arrows and disperse them.

        Stretch forth your hands from high; * snatch me and rescue me

        from the Deep Waters, * from the hand of foreigners,

        whose mouth speaks lies, * and whose right hand is perjured.

    God, let me sing a new song to you; * on the ten-stringed lyre let me play to you,

    who gave victory to your king, * who rescued David your servant.

From the sword of the Evil One snatch me, * and rescue me from the hand of foreigners,

whose mouth speaks lies, * and whose right hand is perjured.

May he bless our sons like plants, * carefully trained from their youth,

our daughters like pillars, * carved for the structure of a palace.

    May our barns be filled, * reaching from end to end.

    May our sheep bring forth thousands, * become tens of thousands in our pastures; * may our cattle be well fed.

Let there be no invasion or exile * nor outcry in our squares.

Happy the people of whom this is so; * happy the people whose God is Yahweh!