Isaiah 25:1-5

25:1 O Lord, you are my God!

I will exalt you in praise, I will extol your fame.

For you have done extraordinary things,

and executed plans made long ago exactly as you decreed.

25:2 Indeed, you have made the city into a heap of rubble,

the fortified town into a heap of ruins;

the fortress of foreigners is no longer a city,

it will never be rebuilt.

25:3 So a strong nation will extol you;

the towns of powerful nations will fear you.

25:4 For you are a protector for the poor,

a protector for the needy in their distress,

a shelter from the rainstorm,

a shade from the heat.

Though the breath of tyrants is like a winter rainstorm,

25:5 like heat in a dry land,

you humble the boasting foreigners.

Just as the shadow of a cloud causes the heat to subside,

so he causes the song of tyrants to cease.