The sapling yearns for the sun;
it cannot help but bloom in spring.
The sun winks at the moon;
its lunar blush swells the tide.
But when she hides her bright smile,
does not the wolf howl in loneliness?
At the cry of the wolf to its pack,
the bison stamp their feet in fear.
If the bison herd stampedes,
who can escape earth’s tremble?
And does not earth quake too
when the LORD himself speaks?
But listen! The LORD clamors even now
with the bloom of a single bud on the tree.
Who can keep silent when the LORD rouses?
Who can keep still when the LORD beckons?