Prayer of Habakkuk
1 ① Prayer of Habakkuk, the prophet. To the tune of a dirge.
2I 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.
3God comes from Teman,
the Holy One from Mount Paran.
His glory shrouds the heavens,
his praise fills the earth,
4his splendor is like the daylight
with rays flashing from his hand,
radiating from his hidden power.
5Pestilence goes before him,
plague follows close behind.
6He stands and the earth sways;
he looks and the nations tremble.
The ancient mountains crumble,
the time-honored hills collapse.
7I saw the tents of Cushan in distress,
the pavilions of Midian in anguish.
8Was your anger against the rivers, Yahweh?
Was your wrath against the sea
>that you drive your steeds
>with your invincible chariots?
9You bare and ready your bow
and set upon it your arrow.
With rivers you cleave the earth.
10At your sight the mountains writhe.
Torrents of water ragingly sweep by,
the deep roaring, lifting its waves high.
11The sun and moon stood still
at the glint of your flying arrows,
at the gleam of your flashing spears.
12You stride the earth in wrath,
you trample the nations in rage.
13You 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.
14You pierce with your shafts his warriors who came like a whirlwind to scatter us in joy,
to devour the wretched quietly.
15You trample the waters with your horses,
amid the churning of the great seas. 16I 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. 17For 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, 18yet in Yahweh will I rejoice,
in God my savior will I exult. 19My 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 in struments.
- Hb 3,1 The prophet calls on Yahweh begging him to reveal himself. Then he describes his triumphant coming through a series of poetic images, recalling his past interventions in the history of Israel: the passage through the Red Sea, Sinai, Deborah's victory. I wait confidently for the day of distress (see Is 8:11). Yet in God my Savior will I exult: these words are found in Mary's canticle (Lk 1:47). In the midst of crises and anguish, the just one walks upon the heights (v. 19).
