So Satan went forth from the presence of the LORD, and smote Job with sore boils from the sole of his foot to his crown.

Because it prevented not my birth, nor hid sorrow from my eyes.

For he maketh sore, and bindeth up: he woundeth, and his hands make whole.

Then should I yet have comfort; yes, I would harden myself in sorrow: let him not spare; for I have not concealed the words of the Holy One.

My eye also is dim by reason of sorrow, and all my members are as a shade.

He draweth also the mighty with his power: he riseth up, and no man is sure of life.

In his neck remaineth strength, and sorrow is turned into joy before him.