You’re God, and on the throne for good;
    your rule makes everything right.
You love it when things are right;
    you hate it when things are wrong.
That is why God, your God,
    poured fragrant oil on your head,
Marking you out as king,
    far above your dear companions.

You, Master, started it all, laid earth’s foundations,
    then crafted the stars in the sky.
Earth and sky will wear out, but not you;
    they become threadbare like an old coat;
You’ll fold them up like a worn-out cloak,
    and lay them away on the shelf.
But you’ll stay the same, year after year;
    you’ll never fade, you’ll never wear out.