Among rocks, brooks he hath cleaved, And every precious thing hath his eye seen.
From overflowing floods he hath bound, And the hidden thing bringeth out `to' light.
Against the flint he sent forth his hand, He overturned from the root mountains.
In all labour there is advantage, And a thing of the lips `is' only to want.
And by knowledge the inner parts are filled, `With' all precious and pleasant wealth.
Utterly naked Thou dost make Thy bow, Sworn are the tribes -- saying, `Pause!' `With' rivers Thou dost cleave the earth.