1. Prayer of Habakkuk, the prophet. To the tune of a dirge.

2. I have heard, Yahweh, of your renown; I stand in awe of your work, O Yahweh. In the middle of years make it known; in your wrath even, remember mercy.

3. God comes from Teman, the Holy One from Mount Paran. His glory shrouds the heavens, his praise fills the earth,

4. his splendor is like the daylight with rays flashing from his hand, radiating from his hidden power.

5. Pestilence goes before him, plague follows close behind.

6. He stands and the earth sways; he looks and the nations tremble. The ancient mountains crumble, the time-honored hills collapse.

7. I saw the tents of Cushan in distress, the pavilions of Midian in anguish.

8. Was your anger against the rivers, Yahweh? Was your wrath against the sea that you drive your steeds with your invincible chariots?

9. You bare and ready your bow and set upon it your arrow. With rivers you cleave the earth.

10. At your sight the mountains writhe. Torrents of water ragingly sweep by, the deep roaring, lifting its waves high.

11. The sun and moon stood still at the glint of your flying arrows, at the gleam of your flashing spears.

12. You stride the earth in wrath, you trample the nations in rage.

13. You came out to redeem your people, to save your anointed one - you crush the head of the wicked, you lay him bare from head to foot.

14. You pierce with your shafts his warriors who came like a whirlwind to scatter us in joy, to devour the wretched quietly.

15. You trample the waters with your horses, amid the churning of the great seas.

16. I heard and my heart pounded, my lips quivered at the sound. Decay crept into my bones; my legs tottered under my body. Yet I wait confidently for the day of distress, when we face the people coming against us.

17. For though the fig trees blossom not, nor grapes be on the vines, though the olive crop fail and the fields produce no food, though the flock be lost from the fold, and the herd be gone from the stalls,

18. yet in Yahweh will I rejoice, in God my savior will I exult.

19. My Lord Yahweh is my stronghold; he makes my feet as fleeting as the hinds; he steadies my steps upon the heights. For the choirmaster: with stringed instruments.

Livros sugeridos

“Há alegrias tão sublimes e dores tão profundas que não se consegue exprimir com palavras. O silêncio é o último recurso da alma, quando ela está inefavelmente feliz ou extremamente oprimida!” São Padre Pio de Pietrelcina


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