Shall the wild ass bray at grass? if the ox will low over his provender?

Since thou hast said, Right is my doctrine, and pure am I in his eyes.

Look, if God doesn't trust his holy ones, if even the heavens aren't pure as he looks at them,

For he oppressed -- he forsook the poor, A house he hath taken violently away, And he doth not build it.

Lo, wild asses in a wilderness, They have gone out about their work, Seeking early for prey, A mixture for himself -- food for young ones.

If even the moon is not bright, and the stars are not pure as far as he is concerned,

Pure am I, without transgression, Innocent am I, and I have no iniquity.