Where were you when I laid the earth's foundations? Tell me if you know.
Who set its measurements? Surely you know. Who stretched a measuring tape on it?
On what were its footings sunk; who laid its cornerstone,
while the morning stars sang in unison and all the divine beings shouted?
Who enclosed the Sea behind doors when it burst forth from the womb,
when I made the clouds its garment, the dense clouds its wrap,
when I imposed my limit for it, put on a bar and doors
and said, "You may come this far, no farther; here your proud waves stop"?
In your lifetime have you commanded the morning, informed the dawn of its place
so it would take hold of earth by its edges and shake the wicked out of it?
Do you turn it over like clay for a seal, so it stands out like a colorful garment?
Light is withheld from the wicked, the uplifted arm broken.