My soul is refusing to touch! They are as my sickening food.

That God would please -- and bruise me, Loose His hand and cut me off!

O that my request may come, That God may grant my hope!

To a despiser of his friends is shame, And the fear of the Mighty he forsaketh.

Is not my help with me, And substance driven from me?

Passengers of Tema looked expectingly, Travellers of Sheba hoped for them.

And yet it is my comfort, (And I exult in pain -- He doth not spare,) That I have not hidden The sayings of the Holy One.

What is my power that I should hope? And what mine end That I should prolong my life?

Is my strength the strength of stones? Is my flesh brazen?

My brethren have deceived as a brook, As a stream of brooks they pass away.

Eaten is an insipid thing without salt? Is there sense in the drivel of dreams?

For arrows of the Mighty are with me, Whose poison is drinking up my spirit. Terrors of God array themselves for me!

And Job answereth and saith: --

Shew me, and I -- I keep silent, And what I have erred, let me understand.

That are black because of ice, By them doth snow hide itself.

Surely now ye have become the same! Ye see a downfall, and are afraid.

Is it because I said, Give to me? And, By your power bribe for me?

Brayeth a wild ass over tender grass? Loweth an ox over his provender?

By the time they are warm they have been cut off, By its being hot they have been Extinguished from their place.

O that my provocation were thoroughly weighed, And my calamity in balances They would lift up together!

For now, than the sands of the sea it is heavier, Therefore my words have been rash.

Turn aside do the paths of their way, They ascend into emptiness, and are lost.

Anger on the fatherless ye cause to fall, And are strange to your friend.

How powerful have been upright sayings, And what doth reproof from you reprove?

They were ashamed that one hath trusted, They have come unto it and are confounded.

And, Deliver me from the hand of an adversary? And, From the hand of terrible ones ransom me?

For reproof -- do you reckon words? And for wind -- sayings of the desperate.

Is there in my tongue perverseness? Discerneth not my palate desirable things?

And, now, please, look upon me, Even to your face do I lie?

Turn back, I pray you, let it not be perverseness, Yea, turn back again -- my righteousness is in it.