Psalms 139

17-22 Your thoughts—how rare, how beautiful!

God, I’ll never comprehend them!

I couldn’t even begin to count them—

any more than I could count the sand of the sea.

Oh, let me rise in the morning and live always with you!

And please, God, do away with wickedness for good!

And you murderers—out of here!—

all the men and women who belittle you, God,

infatuated with cheap god-imitations.

See how I hate those who hate you, God,

see how I loathe all this godless arrogance;

I hate it with pure, unadulterated hatred.

Your enemies are my enemies!