Shall, mortal man, be more just than GOD? Or a man be more pure than, his Maker?

How much more the dwellers in houses of clay, which, in the dust, have their foundation, which are crushed sooner than a moth:

He shall not return again to his house, and his own place shall be acquainted with him no more.

The eye that hath scanned him, shall not do it again, neither, any more, shall his place behold him:

His veins, are filled with nourishment, and, the marrow of his bones, is fresh;

Maternal love shall forget him, the worm shall find him sweet, No more shall he be remembered, but perversity shall be shivered like a tree.

He hath cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.

They were dismayed, they responded no more, they suffered speech to forsake them;

Though I waited, yet could they not speak, Surely they came to a stand, they responded no more.

What I see not, do, thou, shew me, If, perverseness, I have wrought, I will do it no more?

This, dost thou think to be right? Thou hast said - My righteousness is more than GOD'S.

For thou dost say, How can one profit by thee? How can I benefit, more than by my sin?

Who teacheth us more than the beasts of the earth, and, beyond the bird of the heavens, giveth us wisdom?

Lay thou upon him thy hand, remember the battle - no more!

And, Yahweh, blessed the latter end of Job, more than his beginning, - and so he came to have fourteen thousand sheep, and six thousand camels, and a thousand yoke of oxen, and a thousand she-asses.