For, all these things, hath mine own hand made, And all these things came into being, - Declareth Yahweh. But for this one, will I look around, For him who is humbled and smitten in spirit, And so careth anxiously for my word.

And he made my mouth, like a sharp sword, In the shadow of his hand, he concealed me, - And made of me a polished arrow, In his quiver, he hid me;

Your perverseness! As if like clay, the potter could he reckoned; For shall, the thing made say of him that made it, he made me not? Or hath the thing fashioned ever said of him that fashioned it, He hath no understanding.