1 A prayer of Habakkuk the prophet, [set] on shigionoth: 2 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. 3 God comes from Teman, || The Holy One from Mount Paran. Pause! His splendor has covered the heavens, || And His praise has filled the earth. 4 And the brightness is as the light, || He has rays out of His hand, || And there—the hiding of His strength. 5 Before Him goes pestilence, || And a burning flame goes forth at His feet. 6 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. 7 Under sorrow I have seen tents of Cushan, || Curtains of the land of Midian tremble. 8 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. 9 You make Your bow utterly naked, || The tribes have sworn, saying, “Pause!” You cleave the earth [with] rivers. 10 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. 11 Sun—moon—has stood—a habitation, || Your arrows go on at the light, || At the brightness, the glittering of Your spear. 12 In indignation You tread earth, || In anger You thresh nations. 13 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! 14 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. 15 You have proceeded through the sea with Your horses—the clay of many waters. 16 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. 17 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, 18 Yet I, in YHWH I exult, || I am joyful in the God of my salvation. 19 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!