Do you know the time when the mountain goats bring forth? Can you mark the time when the hinds calve?

Can you number the months that they must fulfill? Or do you know the time when they bring forth?

They crouch down; they give birth to their young ones; They send forth their offspring.

Their young become strong; they grow up in the open field; They go forth and do not return to them.

Who has sent out the wild ass free? Or who has loosed the bonds of the swift ass,

Whose home I have made the wilderness, And the salt land, his dwelling place?

He scorns the tumult of the city; He does not hear the shouts of the driver.

He searches out the mountains for his pasture And seeks after every green thing.

Will the wild ox be willing to serve you Or spend the night by your manger?

Can you bind the wild ox to the furrows with his ropes? Or will he plow the valleys behind you?

Will you trust in him because his strength is great? Or will you leave your labor to him?

Will you have confidence in him that he will bring in your seed And gather your grain to your threshing floor?

The wings of the ostrich flap joyously: Are they the pinion and plumage of lovingkindness?

For she leaves her eggs on the earth And warms them in the dust.

And she forgets that a foot may crush them Or that an animal of the field may trample them.

She is hard with her children, as if they were not hers; Though her labor may be in vain, she has no fear;

Because God has caused her to forget wisdom And has not appointed understanding to her.

At that time when she lifts herself up on high, She scorns the horse and its rider.

Have you given the horse his might? Have you clothed his neck with the quivering mane?

Have you made him to leap like a locust? His majestic snorting is terrible.

He paws in the valley, And he rejoices in his strength; He goes forth to meet weapons.

He laughs at fear and is not dismayed, And he does not turn back from the sword.

A quiver of arrows rattles against him, The flashing spear and the javelin.

With fierceness and rage he swallows the ground, And he is not stilled by the sound of the trumpet.

As often as the trumpet sounds, he says, Aha! And from afar he smells the battle, The thundering of captains and the shouting.

Is it by your understanding that the hawk soars, Stretching his wings to the south?

Is it at your command that the eagle mounts up And makes his nest on high?

On the cliff he dwells and makes his lodging, Upon the point of the cliff and the stronghold.

From there he spies out food; His eyes gaze on it from afar.

And his young ones suck up the blood; And where the slain are, there he is.