Yahweh's oracle to you, my Lord, 'Sit at my right hand
and I will make your enemies a footstool for you.'
Yahweh will force all your enemies
under the sway of your sceptre in Zion.
Royal dignity was yours from the day you were born,
on the holy mountains,
royal from the womb, from the dawn of your earliest days.
Yahweh has sworn an oath which He never will retract,
'You are a priest of the order of Melchizedek, and for ever.'
The Lord is at your right hand.
When He grows angry He shatters kings,
He gives the nations their deserts,
smashing their skulls, He heaps the wide world with corpses.
Drinking from the stream as He goes,
He can hold His head high in victory.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem