Nor trodden it have the sons of pride, Not passed over it hath the fierce lion.
A path -- not known it hath a ravenous fowl, Nor scorched it hath an eye of the kite,
Against the flint he sent forth his hand, He overturned from the root mountains.
Every high thing he doth see, He `is' king over all sons of pride.
Even to lay up for the upright substance, A shield for those walking uprightly.