Psalm 147 (idiomatic translation)

Praise the Lord.

Bring your devotion, for here is a fitting place: delightful and apt.

The Lord builds up Jerusalem, and gathers exiles of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted, and binds their wounds. Discerns the number of stars, calling each by its name.

Great is the Lord, of great power. Of understanding beyond all among us. He sustains those who seek him, and leaves all else to their own ends.

So cry with praise to God, and make it music:

Who covers the sky with clouds and brings rain to the earth, grass to the mountains. Food to cattle and infant ravens.

Who does not delight in strength, of the horse nor the warrior. But revels in those who, in awe of his might, believe in his mercy.

Praise the Lord, Jerusalem. Praise God, O Zion.

For he has braced your perimeters and graced you with descendents. Keeps peace around you and grain on your land.

He has struck the earth with his commandment, and it runs out swiftly. Here, where snow spreads like wool: frost sifts like ash, and shards of ice fall sharp on the landscape. So that you might endure it, he has sent his message. It brings wind, and fresh waters.

His words brought to Jacob, his judgments to Israel. But not so to others. Those who don’t yet know, don’t know.

Praise the Lord.