Thea, you search me out and you know me;
you know my sitting down and my rising up;
you discern the pattern of my thoughts.
You trace my journeys and my resting-places
and are acquainted with all my ways.
Indeed, there is not a word on my lips
that you, O Thea, do not know.
You journey behind, before, and beside me,
and you lay your hand upon me in blessing.
Where can I go then from your Ruach?
where can I flee from your presence?
If I climb to the heavens, you are there;
if I make the grave my bed, you are there also.
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
Even there your hand will lead me
and your hands hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will cover me,
and the light around me turn to night,”
Darkness is not dark to you;
the night is as bright as the day;
darkness and light to you are both alike.
For you yourself created my inmost parts;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I will thank you because I am marvelously made;
all your works are wonders to behold.
My body was not hidden from you,
while I was being made in secret
and woven in the depths.
Your eyes beheld my limbs, yet unfinished in the womb;
all of them were already written in your book;
they were fashioned day by day,
when as yet there was none of them.
How deep I find your thoughts, O Thea!
how great is the sum of them!
If I were to count them, they would be more in number than the sand;
to count them all, my life span would need to be like yours.
Search me, O Thea, and know my heart;
lead me in your wisdom’s way.