At the voice of the Lord the roes give birth, the leaves are taken from the trees: in his Temple everything says, Glory.
Lord, your house has been dear to me, and the resting-place of your glory.
Our thoughts were of your mercy, O God, while we were in your Temple.
To see your power and your glory, as I have seen you in the holy place.
For evil was burning like a fire; the blackberries and thorns were burned up; the thick woods took fire, rolling up in dark clouds of smoke.