God, praise awaits you in Zion
							
																								
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									TO THE OVERSEER. A PSALM OF DAVID. A SONG. To You, silence [and] praise, O God, in Zion, || And to You a vow is completed.
								
							 
																								
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									Hearer of prayer, all flesh comes to You.
								
							 
																								
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									Matters of iniquities were mightier than I, || Our transgressions—You cover them.
								
							 
																								
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									O the blessedness of [him whom] You choose, || And draw near, he inhabits Your courts, || We are satisfied with the goodness of Your house, || Your holy temple.
								
							 
																								
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									By fearful things in righteousness You answer us, || O God of our salvation, || The confidence of all far off || The ends of the earth and sea.
								
							 
																								
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									Establishing mountains by His power, || He has been girded with might,
								
							 
																								
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									Restraining the noise of seas, the noise of their billows, || And the multitude of the peoples.
								
							 
																								
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									And the inhabitants of the uttermost parts || Are afraid from Your signs, || You cause the outgoings of morning and evening to sing.
								
							 
																								
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									You have inspected the earth, and water it, || You make it very rich, the stream of God [is] full of water, || You prepare their grain, || When thus You prepare it,
								
							 
																								
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									Its ridges have been filled, || Its furrow has been deepened, || You soften it with showers, || Its springing up You bless.
								
							 
																								
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									You have crowned the year of Your goodness, || And Your paths drop fatness.
								
							 
																								
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									The pastures of a wilderness drop, || And You gird the hills with joy.
								
							 
																								
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									The meadows are clothed with the flock, || And valleys are covered with grain, || They shout—indeed, they sing!
								
							 
																						
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