and to every living thing of the land—and to every bird of the heavens, and to every thing that moveth on the land, wherein is a living soul, every green herb for food. And it wins so.
Who causeth the grass to shoot forth for the cattle, And the herb, for the service of man, That he may bring forth food out of the earth;
Giving, to the beast, its food, to the young ravens, when they cry.
Surely the mountains bring, produce, to him, where, all the wild beasts of the field, do play;
Behold, I pray thee, the Hippopotamus, which I made with thee, Grass—like the ox, he eateth;
As for every moving thing that hath life, yours, shall it be, for food,—Like the green herb, have I given you all things.
And, his young brood, suck up blood, and, where the slain are, there, is he.
He espieth the mountains, his pasture-ground, and, after every green thing, maketh search.
Their young become strong, they grow up in the open field, they go out, and return not unto them.
But thou, take to thee of all food that is eaten, and gather it unto thee,—and it shall be for thee and for them for food.