and Sheba doth fall, and take them, and the young men they have smitten by the mouth of the sword, and I am escaped -- only I alone -- to declare it to thee.'

Thou comest in full age unto the grave, As the going up of a stalk in its season.

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

If I lay down then I said, 'When do I rise!' And evening hath been measured, And I have been full of tossings till dawn.

If I have done wickedly -- woe to me, And righteously -- I lift not up my head, Full of shame -- then see my affliction,

And yet, ask, I pray thee, One of the beasts, and it doth shew thee, And a fowl of the heavens, And it doth declare to thee.

They feel darkness, and not light, He causeth them to wander as a drunkard.

Doth not His excellency terrify you? And His dread fall upon you?

Man, born of woman! Of few days, and full of trouble!

Doth a wise man answer with vain knowledge? And fill with an east wind his belly?

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

His bones have been full of his youth, And with him on the dust it lieth down.

His breasts have been full of milk, And marrow his bones doth moisten.

Sweet to him have been the clods of the valley, And after him every man he draweth, And before him there is no numbering.

I arrange before Him the cause, And my mouth fill with arguments.

A path -- not known it hath a ravenous fowl, Nor scorched it hath an eye of the kite,

It hath been hid from the eyes of all living. And from the fowl of the heavens It hath been hidden.

I laugh unto them -- they give no credence, And the light of my face cause not to fall.

My shoulder from its blade let fall, And mine arm from the bone be broken.

For I have been full of words, Distressed me hath the spirit of my breast,

Teaching us more than the beasts of the earth, Yea, than the fowl of the heavens He maketh us wiser.'

And also He moved thee from a strait place, To a broad place -- no straitness under it, And the sitting beyond of thy table Hath been full of fatness.

They dig in a valley, and he rejoiceth in power, He goeth forth to meet the armour.

Lo, I have been vile, What do I return to Thee? My hand I have placed on my mouth.

Dost thou fill with barbed irons his skin? And with fish-spears his head?

The son of the bow doth not cause him to flee, Turned by him into stubble are stones of the sling.