Pity me! pity me! ye, my friends, for, the hand of GOD, hath stricken me!

Let darkness and death-shade buy it back, May there settle down upon it a cloud, Let a day's dark eclipse cause it terror:

Yea, GOD, hath made timid my heart, and, the Almighty, hath put me in terror.

For, in the case of all such, morning to them is the death-shade, For, to be recognised, is a death-shade terror.

Let him take from off me his rod, and, his terror, let it not startle me:

And shalt rest, with none to put thee in terror, - and many shall entreat thy favour.

Thy hand - from off me, take thou far away, and, thy terror, let it not startle me!

Couldst thou cause him to leap like a locust? The majesty of his snort, is a terror!

Lo! my terror, will not startle thee, nor, my hand, upon thee, be heavy.

The doors of his face, who hath opened? The circles of his teeth, are a terror!

At his rising up, mighty men are afraid, by reason of terror, they are beside themselves:

For, the arrows of the Almighty, are in me, The heat whereof, my spirit is drinking up, The, terrors of GOD, array themselves against me.

Round about, terrors have startled him, and have driven him to his feet.

Uprooted, out of his tent, be his confidence, and let it drive him down to the king of terrors;

He hath drawn it out, and it hath come forth out of his back, - yea the flashing arrow-head, out of his gall, There shall march on him - terrors:

There shall reach him - like waters - terrors, By night, a storm-wind hath stolen him away;

There are turned upon me terrors, - Chased away as with a wind, is mine abundance, and, as a cloud, hath passed away my prosperity.