Because there is no grass, even the doe in the field forsakes her newborn fawn.
God’s mighty voice makes the deer to give birth. His thunderbolt-voice lays the forest bare. In his temple all fall before him with each one shouting, “Glory, glory, the God of glory!”
The River Nimrim has dried up; the grass has withered; new growth has failed, and vegetation has vanished.
“Naphtali is a doe set free, who bestows beauty on his offspring.