Let darkness and death-shade redeem it, Let a cloud tabernacle upon it, Let them terrify it as the most bitter of days.

Why giveth He to the miserable light, and life to the bitter soul?

He permitteth me not to refresh my spirit, But filleth me with bitter things.

For Thou writest against me bitter things, And causest me to possess iniquities of my youth:

He looketh not on rivulets, Flowing of brooks of honey and butter.

And this one dieth with a bitter soul, And have not eaten with gladness.

Also -- to-day is my complaint bitter, My hand hath been heavy because of my sighing.

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

When washing my goings with butter, And the firm rock is with me rivulets of oil.