Knowest thou the time when the wild goats of the rock bring forth? Or canst thou mark when the hinds do calve?
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Canst thou number the months that they fulfil? Or knowest thou the time when they bring forth?
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They bow themselves, they bring forth their young, They cast out their fruit.
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Their young ones wax strong, they grow up in the open field; They go forth, and return not again.
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Who hath sent out the wild ass free? Or who hath loosed the bands of the wild ass?
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Whose house I have made the wilderness, And the salt land his dwelling-place.
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He scorneth the tumult of the city, Neither heareth he the shoutings of the driver.
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The range of the mountains is his pasture, And he searcheth after every green thing.
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Will the wild-ox be willing to serve thee? Or will he abide by thy crib?
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Canst thou bind the wild-ox with his band in the furrow? Or will he harrow the valleys after thee?
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Wilt thou trust him, because his strength is great? Or wilt thou leave thy labour to him?
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Wilt thou rely on him, that he will bring home thy seed, And gather the corn of thy threshing-floor?
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The wing of the ostrich beateth joyously; But are her pinions and feathers the kindly stork’s?
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For she leaveth her eggs on the earth, And warmeth them in dust,
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And forgetteth that the foot may crush them, Or that the wild beast may trample them.
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She is hardened against her young ones, as if they were not hers; Though her labour be in vain, she is without fear; .
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Because God hath deprived her of wisdom, Neither hath He imparted to her understanding.
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When the time cometh, she raiseth her wings on high, And scorneth the horse and his rider.
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Hast thou given the horse his strength? Hast thou clothed his neck with fierceness?
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Hast thou made him to leap as a locust? The glory of his snorting is terrible.
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He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength; He goeth out to meet the clash of arms.
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He mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted; Neither turneth he back from the sword.
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The quiver rattleth upon him, The glittering spear and the javelin.
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He swalloweth the ground with storm and rage; Neither believeth he that it is the voice of the horn.
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As oft as he heareth the horn he saith: ‘Ha, ha! ’ And he smelleth the battle afar off, The thunder of the captains, and the shouting.
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Doth the hawk soar by thy wisdom, And stretch her wings toward the south?
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Doth the vulture mount up at thy command, And make her nest on high?
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She dwelleth and abideth on the rock, Upon the crag of the rock, and the stronghold.
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From thence she spieth out the prey; Her eyes behold it afar off.
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Her young ones also suck up blood; And where the slain are, there is she.
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