And whoever may settle in these, they have trembled, with a weak hand, and they have been confounded. They have become like the hay of the field, and like weeds sprouting on the rooftops, which dry up before they reached maturity.
You have accomplished your many wonders, O Lord my God, and there is no one similar to you in your thoughts. I have announced and I have spoken: they are multiplied beyond number.
So if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and cast into the oven tomorrow, how much more will he care for you, O little in faith?