Coverdale(i)
3 God commeth from Theman, and the holy one from the mount of Pharan. Sela.
4 His glory couereth the heauens, and the earth is full of his prayse. His shyne is as ye sonne, & beames of light go out of his hondes, there is his power hid.
5 Destruccio goeth before him, and burnynge cressettes go from his fete.
6 He stondeth, & measureth the earth: He loketh, & the people consume awaye, the moutaynes of ye worlde fall downe to powlder, and the hilles are fayne to bowe them selues, for his goinges are euerlastinge and sure.
7 I sawe, that the pauilions of the Morians and the tentes of the londe of Madian were vexed for weerynesse.
8 Wast thou not angrie (o LORDE) in the waters? was not thy wrath in the floudes, and thy displeasure in the see? yes, whe thou sattest vpon thine horse, and when thy charettes had the victory.
9 Thou shewdest thy bowe opely, like as thou haddest promised with an ooth vnto the trybes. Sela. Thou didest deuyde the waters of the earth.
10 When the mountaynes saw the, they were afrayed, ye water streame wete awaye: the depe made a noyse at the liftinge vp of thine honde.
11 The Sonne and Mone remayned still in their habitacion. Thine arowes wente out glisteringe, and thy speares as the shyne of the lightenynge.
12 Thou trodest downe the londe in thine anger, and didest throsshe the Heithen in thy displeasure.
13 Thou camest forth to helpe thy people, to helpe thine anoynted. Thou smotest downe the heade in the house of the vngodly, & discoueredest his foundacions, eue vnto ye necke of him. Sela.
14 Thou cursest his septers, the captayne of his men of warre: which come as a stormy wynde to scatre me abrode, & are glad when they maye eat vp ye poore secretly.
15 Thou makest a waye for thine horses in the see, euen in the mudde of greate waters.
16 Whe I heare this, my body is vexed, my lippes tremble at ye voyce therof, my bones corruppe, I am afrayed where I stonde. O that I might rest in the daye of trouble, that I might go vp vnto oure people, which are alredy prepared.
17 For the fyge trees shal not be grene, & the vynes shal beare no frute. The laboure of ye olyue shalbe but lost, and the londe shall bringe no corne: the shepe shalbe taken out of ye folde, and there shalbe no catell in ye stalles.
18 But as for me, I wil be glad in the LORDE, and will reioyce in God my Sauioure.
19 The LORDE God is my strength, he shall make my fete as the fete of hertes: & he which geueth ye victory, shal bringe me to my hye places, synginge vpon my psalmes.