Psalm 8:1–9:20

¹8God, brilliant Lord,

yours is a household name.

²Nursing infants gurgle choruses about you;

toddlers shout the songs

That drown out enemy talk,

and silence atheist babble.

^3–4I look up at your macro-skies, dark and enormous,

your hand-made sky-jewelry,

Moon and stars mounted in their settings.

Then I look at my micro-self and wonder,

Why do you bother with us?

Why take a second look our way?

^5–8Yet we’ve so narrowly missed being gods,

bright with Eden’s dawn light.

You put us in charge of your handcrafted world,

repeated to us your Genesis-charge,

Made us lords of sheep and cattle,

even animals out in the wild,

Birds flying and fish swimming,

whales singing in the ocean deeps.

⁹God, brilliant Lord,

your name echoes around the world.

A David Psalm

^1–29I’m thanking you, God, from a full heart,

I’m writing the book on your wonders.

I’m whistling, laughing, and jumping for joy;

I’m singing your song, High God.

^3–4The day my enemies turned tail and ran,

they stumbled on you and fell on their faces.

You took over and set everything right;

when I needed you, you were there, taking charge.

^5–6You blow the whistle on godless nations;

you throw dirty players out of the game,

wipe their names right off the roster.

Enemies disappear from the sidelines,

their reputation trashed,

their names erased from the halls of fame.

^7–8God holds the high center,

he sees and sets the world’s mess right.

He decides what is right for us earthlings,

gives people their just deserts.

^9–10God’s a safe-house for the battered,

a sanctuary during bad times.

The moment you arrive, you relax;

you’re never sorry you knocked.

^11–12Sing your songs to Zion-dwelling God,

tell his stories to everyone you meet:

How he tracks down killers

yet keeps his eye on us,

registers every whimper and moan.

^13–14Be kind to me, God;

I’ve been kicked around long enough.

Once you’ve pulled me back

from the gates of death,

I’ll write the book on Hallelujahs;

on the corner of Main and First

I’ll hold a street meeting;

I’ll be the song leader; we’ll fill the air

with salvation songs.

^15–16They’re trapped, those godless countries,

in the very snares they set,

Their feet all tangled

in the net they spread.

They have no excuse;

the way God works is well-known.

The cunning machinery made by the wicked

has maimed their own hands.

^17–20The wicked bought a one-way

ticket to hell.

No longer will the poor be nameless—

no more humiliation for the humble.

Up, God! Aren’t you fed up with their empty strutting?

Expose these grand pretensions!

Shake them up, God!

Show them how silly they look.