ADONAI, you’ve searched me and known me.
You know my sitting down and my rising up,
you discern my thoughts from afar.
You trace my journeys and my resting places;
and are acquainted with all of my ways.
Indeed, there is not a word on my lips;
but you, O God, know it altogether.
You press upon me, behind and before,
and lay your hand upon me.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
it is so high I cannot attain it!
Where can I go then from your Spirit,
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I climb up to heaven, you are there;
if I make the grave my bed, you are there also.
If I take the wings of the morning,
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand will lead me,
and your right hand hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will cover me,
and the light around me turn to night,”
darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day,
darkness and light to you are both alike.
You created my inmost being
and stitched me together in my mother’s womb.
For all these mysteries I thank you—
for the wonder of myself,
for the wonder of your works—
my soul knows it well.
My frame was not hidden from you
while I was being made in that secret place,
knitted together in the depths of the earth;
your eyes saw my body even there.
All of my days
were written in your book,
all of them planned
before even the first of them came to be.
How precious your thoughts are to me, ADONAI!
How impossible to number them!
I could no more count them
than I could count the sand.
But suppose I could?
You would still be with me!
