Neither the Mountain
to me ought a thorn be,
Nor the deep Valley
present a hurt to my fall.

This Creation,
thy little lord should be.
This Creation
a Song stirred should please.
Alas, this Creation
a Fallen Man he is.

Whence affliction cometh forth?
From whence the hurt
that ****** my aches?
What suffereth my being to wail?
And wrought bareness
to wholeness of bones?

Bringing me to heights,
the Mountain should be.
Expounding me mysteries,
the Valley should delight.

Then, why speaketh thou
sore distress for my hurt?
Why casteth thou down,
and exalt my tribulations!!!

Hath thou no pleasure
in thine maker?
Nor any weariness
of His rebuke as a sword?

Surely, He formed thee
whole in perfection,
As for me, conceived
in darkness of the fallen,
Rejoice not in this afford.
For grace shall speak, Selah.