Not for violence in my hands, And my prayer is pure.

O earth, do not thou cover my blood! And let there not be a place for my cry.

And he reasoneth for a man with God, And a son of man for his friend.

When a few years do come, Then a path I return not do I go.

Also, now, lo, in the heavens is my witness, And my testifier in the high places.

My interpreter is my friend, Unto God hath mine eye dropped:

And Job answereth and saith: --

His anger hath torn, and he hateth me, He hath gnashed at me with his teeth, My adversary sharpeneth his eyes for me.

I also, like you, might speak, If your soul were in my soul's stead. I might join against you with words, And nod at you with my head.

I have heard many such things, Miserable comforters are ye all.

At ease I have been, and he breaketh me, And he hath laid hold on my neck, And he breaketh me in pieces, And he raiseth me to him for a mark.

Sackcloth I have sewed on my skin, And have rolled in the dust my horn.

I might harden you with my mouth, And the moving of my lips might be sparing.

Go round against me do his archers. He splitteth my reins, and spareth not, He poureth out to the earth my gall.

If I speak, my pain is not restrained, And I cease -- what goeth from me?

And Thou dost loathe me, For a witness it hath been, And rise up against me doth my failure, In my face it testifieth.

My face is foul with weeping, And on mine eyelids is death-shade.

They have gaped on me with their mouth, In reproach they have smitten my cheeks, Together against me they set themselves.

Only, now, it hath wearied me; Thou hast desolated all my company,

He breaketh me -- breach upon breach, He runneth upon me as a mighty one.

God shutteth me up unto the perverse, And to the hands of the wicked turneth me over.

Is there an end to words of wind? Or what doth embolden thee that thou answerest?