So to whom will you equate God;
to what likeness will you compare him?
An idol? A craftsman pours it,
a metalworker covers it with gold,
and fashions silver chains.
The one who sets up an image chooses wood that won’t rot
and then seeks a skilled artisan
to set up an idol that won’t move.
Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard?
Wasn’t it announced to you from the beginning?
Haven’t you understood since the earth was founded?
God inhabits the earth’s horizon—
its inhabitants are like locusts—
stretches out the skies like a curtain
and spreads it out like a tent for dwelling.
God makes dignitaries useless
and the earth’s judges into nothing.
Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown,
scarcely is their shoot rooted in the earth
when God breathes on them, and they dry up;
the windstorm carries them off like straw.