There is a sure source of silver, a place where gold is refined.
Iron is taken from the earth; rock is smelted into copper.
Humans put an end to darkness, dig for ore to the farthest depths, into stone in utter darkness,
open a shaft away from any inhabitant, places forgotten by those on foot, apart from any human they hang and sway.
Earth—from it comes food— is turned over below ground as by fire.
Its rocks are the source for lapis lazuli; there is gold dust in it.
A path— no bird of prey knows it; a hawk's eye hasn't seen it;
proud beasts haven't trodden on it; a lion hasn't crossed over it.
Humans thrust their hands into flint, pull up mountains from their roots,
cut channels into rocks; their eyes see everything precious.
They dam up the sources of rivers; hidden things come to light.