how much more those who dwell in clay houses,
whose foundation is in the dust,
who are crushed like a moth!

Call out if you please. Will anyone answer you?
Which of the holy ones will you turn to?

Please remember that You formed me like clay.
Will You now return me to dust?

Your memorable sayings are proverbs of ash;
your defenses are made of clay.

Then call, and I will answer,
or I will speak, and You can respond to me.

You would call, and I would answer You.
You would long for the work of Your hands.

Yes, the light of the wicked is extinguished;
the flame of his fire does not glow.

I cry out: “Violence!” but get no response;
I call for help, but there is no justice.

I call for my servant, but he does not answer,
even if I beg him with my own mouth.

He will suck the poison of cobras;
a viper’s fangs will kill him.

The murderer rises at dawn
to kill the poor and needy,
and by night he becomes a thief.

Will he delight in the Almighty?
Will he call on God at all times?

Though he piles up silver like dust
and heaps up a wardrobe like clay—

I am just like you before God;
I was also pinched off from a piece of clay.

Yet out of the north He comes, shrouded in a golden glow;
awesome majesty surrounds Him.

The earth is changed as clay is by a seal;
its hills stand out like the folds of a garment.