Bilingual reading

A prayer of Habakkuk, the prophet, set to victorious music.

LORD, I have heard of your fame. I stand in awe of your deeds, LORD. Renew your work in the middle of the years. In the middle of the years make it known. In wrath, you remember mercy.

God came from Teman, the Holy One from Mount Paran. His glory covered the heavens, and his praise filled the earth.

His splendor is like the sunrise. Rays shine from his hand, where his power is hidden.

Plague went before him, and pestilence followed his feet.

He stood, and shook the earth. He looked, and made the nations tremble. The ancient mountains were crumbled. The age-old hills collapsed. His ways are eternal.

I saw the tents of Cushan in affliction. The dwellings of the land of Midian trembled.

Was the LORD displeased with the rivers? Was your anger against the rivers, or your wrath against the sea, that you rode on your horses, on your chariots of salvation?

You uncovered your bow. You called for your sworn arrows. You split the earth with rivers.

The mountains saw you, and were afraid. The storm of waters passed by. The deep roared and lifted up its hands on high.

The sun and moon stood still in the sky at the light of your arrows as they went, at the shining of your glittering spear.

You marched through the land in wrath. You threshed the nations in anger.

You went out for the salvation of your people, for the salvation of your anointed. You crushed the head of the land of wickedness. You stripped them head to foot.

You pierced the heads of his warriors with their own spears. They came as a whirlwind to scatter me, gloating as if to devour the wretched in secret.

You trampled the sea with your horses, churning mighty waters.

I heard, and my body trembled. My lips quivered at the voice. Rottenness enters into my bones, and I tremble in my place because I must wait quietly for the day of trouble, for the coming up of the people who invade us.

For even though the fig tree doesn’t flourish, nor fruit be in the vines, the labor of the olive fails, the fields yield no food, the flocks are cut off from the fold, and there is no herd in the stalls,

yet I will rejoice in the LORD. I will be joyful in the God of my salvation!

GOD, the Lord, is my strength. He makes my feet like deer’s feet, and enables me to go in high places. For the music director, on my stringed instruments.

صلاة حَبَقُّوقَ النَّبِيِّ على لَحنِ الرِّثاء

يا رَبِّ سَمِعتُ بِسُمعَتِكَ فخِفتُ عَمَلَكَ في وَسَطِ السِّنينَ أَحْيهِ وفي وَسَطِ السِّنينَ تُعَرِّفُ بِه وفي الغَضَبِ ٱرحَمْ وٱذكُرْ

اللهُ يَأتي من تَيمان والقُدُّوسُ من جَبَلِ فاران. سِلاه. غَطَّى جَلالُه السَّمٰوات وٱمتَلأَتِ الأَرضُ مِن تَسبِحَتِه

بَهاؤُه يَكونُ كالنُّور ولَه مِن يَده أَشِعَّة وهُناكَ تَحتَجِبُ عِزَّتُه

أَمامَ وَجهِه يَسيرُ الطَّاعون والحُمَّى تَتبَعُ خُطاه

يَقِفُ ويُزَعزِعُ الأَرْض يَنظُرُ ويُوَثِّبُ الأُمَم وتَتَفَتَّتُ الجِبالُ الأَزَلِيَّة وتَنْهارُ التِّلالُ القَديمة مَسالِكُه الأَزَلِيَّة

رَأَيتُ خِيامَ كوشَ تَحتَ البَلاء وجُلودَ أَرضِ مِديَنَ تَرجِف

أَعَلى الأَنْهارِ يا رَبُّ يَستَشيطُ غَضَبُكَ أَو على الأَنْهارِ سُخطُكَ أَو على البَحرِ حَنَقُكَ حتَّى تَركَبَ خَيلَكَ مَركَباتِ خَلاصِكَ

تُجَرِّدُ قَوسُكَ تَجْريدًا والقَسَمُ هو سِهامُ كَلِمَتِكَ. سِلاه. تَشُقُّ الأَرضَ أَنْهارًا

تَراكَ الجبالُ فتَتمَخَّض ويَجْتازُ إِعصارٌ مائيّ ويَجهَرُ الغَمرُ بِصَوتِه ويَرفَعُ يَدَيه إِلى العَلاء

تَقِفُ الشَّمسُ والقَمَرُ في مَنازِلِهما مِن ضَوءِ سِهامِكَ المُتَطايِرة ومِن بَهاءِ بَريقِ رُمحِكَ

إِنَّكَ بِسُخطٍ تَطَأُ الأَرْض وبِغَضَبٍ تَدوسُ الأُمَم

لقد خَرَجتَ لِخَلاصِ شَعبِكَ لِخَلاصِ مَسيحِكَ فهَشَّمتَ رأسَ بَيتِ الشِّرِّير مُعَرِّيًا مِنَ الأَساسِ إِلى السَّقْف. سِلاه

طَعَنتَ بِسِهامِه رُؤُوسَ قُوَّادِه الهاجِمينَ كالزَّوبَعةِ لِيُشَتِّتوني الشَّامِتينَ كأَنَّهم يَلتَهِمونَ المِسْكينَ في الخُفْيَة

بِخَيلِكَ وَطِئتَ البَحرَ وغَلَيانَ المِياهِ الغَزيرة

سَمِعتُ فخَفَقَت أَحْشائي ورَجَفَت شَفَتايَ مِنَ الصَّوت ودَخَلَ النَّخَرُ عِظامي وٱضطَربتُ في مَكاني لِأَنِّي أَنتَظِرُ أَن يَقومَ يَومُ ضيقٍ على شَعبٍ يُهاجِمُنا

فإِنَّ التِّينَ لا يُزهِر والكُرومَ لا غِلالَ فيها وحَصيلةَ الزَّيتونِ تَكذِب والحُقولَ لا تُخرِجُ طَعامًا. تنقَطِعُ الغَنَمُ مِنَ الحَظيرة ولا يَكونُ بَقَرٌ في الإِسطَبْل

أَمَّا أَنا فأَتَهَلَّلُ بِالرَّبّ وأَبتَهِجُ بإِلٰهِ خَلاصي

الرَّبُّ الإِلٰهُ قُوَّتي وهو يَجعَلُ قَدَمَيَّ كالأَيائِل ويمشِّيني على مَشارِفي. لإِمامِ الغِناء. على ذَواتِ الأَوتار