From Aram, Balak made me come,
the King of Moab,
from the Eastern Mountains:
"Come, curse Jacob for me,
come, prophesy against Israel."
How shall I curse if God does not let me?
How shall I prophesy if God does not want it?
From the top of these crags I see them,
from the top of this peak I observe them:
this is a people different from all nations!
How beautiful are your tents,
how beautiful, O Israel!
How beautiful are your tents,
how beautiful, O Israel!
La la la la…
Who shall count your multitudes?
Jacob, O Jacob,
Jacob, O Jacob?
How beautiful are your tents…
"But what are you doing?
You are blessing them!
Come see from another place,
maybe from there God will curse them."
"Listen, son of Zippor,
hear me, King Balak.
God is not a man
who speaks and then repents.
A star is rising from Jacob;
I hear acclamations for a King,
God, God is his father:
he crouches like a lion,
he lies down like a lioness,
no one will make him rise."
How beautiful are your tents…
"Let my death be
like the death of your Just One,
let my life be where he is."
How beautiful are your tents...

The glorious cross of the risen Lord
is the tree of my salvation;
on it I feed, in it I delight,
in its roots I grow,
in its branches I lie down.
Its dew makes me glad,
its breeze gives me life,
in its shadow I have put my tent.
In hunger, my nourishment, in thirst, the fountain,
in nakedness, my clothing.
Hard path, narrow road,
Jacob's ladder, bed of love
where the Lord married us.
The glorious cross…
In fear, defence,
in stumbling, support,
in victory, crown,
in struggle, you are reward.
Tree of eternal life,
pillar of the universe,
skeleton of the earth,
your peak reaches heaven,
and in your open arms
shines the love of God.
The glorious cross…