Psalms 144
1 A Psalm. Of David. Praise be to the God of my strength, teaching my hands the use of the sword, and my fingers the art of fighting:
David’s. Blessed be Yahweh, my Rock, who teacheth my hands to war, my fingers to fight:
2 He is my strength, and my Rock; my high tower, and my saviour; my keeper and my hope: he gives me authority over my people.
My lovingkindness and my stronghold, my high tower and my deliverer—mine! My buckler, and he in whom I have sought refuge, —He that subdueth my people under me.
3 Lord, what is man, that you keep him in mind? or the son of man that you take him into account?
O Yahweh! what is the earthborn, And yet thou hast acknowledged him, —the son of a mortal, And yet thou hast taken account of him:
4 Man is like a breath: his life is like a shade which is quickly gone.
The earthborn, resembleth, a vapour, his days, are like a passing shadow.
5 Come down, O Lord, from your heavens: at your touch let the mountains give out smoke.
O Yahweh! bow thy heavens and come down, Touch the mountains, that they smoke:
6 With your storm-flames send them in flight: send out your arrows for their destruction.
Flash forth lightning, that thou mayest scatter them, Send out thine arrows, that thou mayest confound them:
7 Put out your hand from on high; make me free, take me safely out of the great waters, and out of the hands of strange men;
Put forth thy hands from on high: —Snatch me away and rescue me out of mighty waters, out of the hand of the sons of the alien,
8 In whose mouths are false words, and whose right hand is a right hand of deceit.
Whose mouth, hath spoken deceit, and, whose right hand, is a right hand of falsehood.
9 I will make a new song to you, O God; I will make melody to you on an instrument of ten cords.
O God! a new song, will I sing unto thee, —On a harp of ten strings, will I make music to thee:
10 It is God who gives salvation to kings; and who kept his servant David from the wounding sword.
Who giveth victory unto kings—Who snatcheth away David his servant, from the calamitous sword.
11 Make me free, and take me out of the hands of strange men, in whose mouths are false words, and whose right hand is a right hand of deceit.
Snatch me away and rescue me out of he hand of the sons of the alien, —whose mouth hath spoken deceit, and, whose right hand, is a right hand of falsehood: —
12 Our sons are like tall young plants; and our daughters like the shining stones of a king's house;
That, our sons, may be like plants well grown while yet young, —Our daughters, like corner pillars, —carved, in the construction of a palace:
13 Our store-houses are full of all good things; and our sheep give birth to thousands and ten thousands in our fields.
Our garners, full, pouring out from one kind to another; Our flocks, multiplying by thousands—by myriads, in our open fields:
14 Our oxen are well weighted down; our cows give birth safely; there is no going out, and there is no cry of sorrow in our open places.
Our oxen, well-laden; no breaking in and no departing, —and no loud lament in our places of concourse: —
15 Happy is the nation whose ways are so ordered: yes, happy is the nation whose God is the Lord.
How happy the people that is in such a case! How happy the people that hath Yahweh for its God!
