bare the forests: and in his temple does every one speak of his glory.
This beautiful phrase is a metaphor for a storm and pain. The voice of the Lord is the thunder. The leaves are flying in tumult throughout the forest in the stormy winds. The timid forest folk... the deer...is so afraid in the middle of this raging storm that she is thrown into early labor and brings forth her baby calve, screaming and writhing in pain. Then the storm is still, and all of nature, the Lord's temple, speaks of the glory of God. The loveliness resulting from the deer's pain is a baby deer, and what in the forest could be more lovely than the awkwardness of a fawn, still wet after a stormy birth?