For all the while my breath is in me, And the spirit of God in my nostrils.

For what is the hope of the profane, When He doth cut off? When God doth cast off his soul?

God liveth! He turned aside my judgment, And the Mighty -- He made my soul bitter.

Pollution to me -- if I justify you, Till I expire I turn not aside mine integrity from me.

This is the portion of wicked man with God, And the inheritance of terrible ones From the Mighty they receive.

And Job addeth to lift up his simile, and saith: --

He hath built as a moth his house, And as a booth a watchman hath made.

On the Mighty doth he delight himself? Call God at all times?

On my righteousness I have laid hold, And I do not let it go, My heart doth not reproach me while I live.

Take him up doth an east wind, and he goeth, And it frighteneth him from his place,

If he heap up as dust silver, And as clay prepare clothing,

It clappeth at him its hands, And it hisseth at him from his place.

Overtake him as waters do terrors, By night stolen him away hath a whirlwind.

His cry doth God hear, When distress cometh on him?

His remnant in death are buried, And his widows do not weep.

My lips do not speak perverseness, And my tongue doth not utter deceit.

Rich he lieth down, and he is not gathered, His eyes he hath opened, and he is not.

And it casteth at him, and doth not spare, From its hand he diligently fleeth.

If his sons multiply -- for them is a sword. And his offspring are not satisfied with bread.

I shew you by the hand of God, That which is with the Mighty I hide not.

He prepareth -- and the righteous putteth it on, And the silver the innocent doth apportion.

As the wicked is my enemy, And my withstander as the perverse.

Lo, ye -- all of you -- have seen, And why is this -- ye are altogether vain?