Psalm 139

Whither can I go from my presence?

And where can I flee from the works of my hands?

Behold, if I stand at the remotest edge of the world

The sky is stitched with the plumes of my engines,

And if I look beyond, even unto the heavens -

There are my lights weaving amongst the stars!

If I descend to the depths of the ocean,

Littered there are the ruins of my creations,

And the highest mountains breathe

The smoke of my devourings!

I have made of Darkness a fugitive,

And of Silence a hunted animal.

The whole world crackles with my frequencies,

My voice and image are carried

to the ends of the earth!

The innocent in his cell is known to every being,

Leaving no one free;

The stench of the poor and the needy

Befouls every green and lovely space.

The laughter of the cruel,

The wail of grieving mothers -

They shatter every solitude and silence.

For, behold, I have broken my reigns,

I overflow my apportionment.

Neither the right hand of God

nor both together can contain me.

I am thrillingly and fearfully made,

And blessing and destruction, both are loosed together.

I fulfill no plan, no design from of old;

The story of my days is not written,

It cannot be foretold.