Doing great things, and there is no searching. Wonderful, till there is no numbering.

Who is giving rain on the face of the land, And is sending waters on the out-places.

Capturing the wise in their subtilty, And the counsel of wrestling ones was hastened,

By day they meet darkness, And as night -- they grope at noon.

And there is hope to the poor, And perverseness hath shut her mouth.

(For with sons of the field is thy covenant, And the beast of the field Hath been at peace with thee.)

And thou hast known that thy tent is peace, And inspected thy habitation, and errest not,

And hast known that numerous is Thy seed, And thine offspring as the herb of the earth;

Thou comest in full age unto the grave, As the going up of a stalk in its season.

Lo, this -- we searched it out -- it is right, hearken; And thou, know for thyself!

For now, than the sands of the sea it is heavier, Therefore my words have been rash.

For arrows of the Mighty are with me, Whose poison is drinking up my spirit. Terrors of God array themselves for me!

Brayeth a wild ass over tender grass? Loweth an ox over his provender?

Eaten is an insipid thing without salt? Is there sense in the drivel of dreams?

My soul is refusing to touch! They are as my sickening food.

And yet it is my comfort, (And I exult in pain -- He doth not spare,) That I have not hidden The sayings of the Holy One.

What is my power that I should hope? And what mine end That I should prolong my life?

Is my strength the strength of stones? Is my flesh brazen?

Is not my help with me, And substance driven from me?

To a despiser of his friends is shame, And the fear of the Mighty he forsaketh.

My brethren have deceived as a brook, As a stream of brooks they pass away.

That are black because of ice, By them doth snow hide itself.

Is it because I said, Give to me? And, By your power bribe for me?

Turn back, I pray you, let it not be perverseness, Yea, turn back again -- my righteousness is in it.

Is there in my tongue perverseness? Discerneth not my palate desirable things?

Is there not a warfare to man on earth? And as the days of an hireling his days?

As a servant desireth the shadow, And as a hireling expecteth his wage,

Clothed hath been my flesh with worms, And a clod of dust, My skin hath been shrivelled and is loathsome,

Remember Thou that my life is a breath, Mine eye turneth not back to see good.

Consumed hath been a cloud, and it goeth, So he who is going down to Sheol cometh not up.

What is man that Thou dost magnify him? And that Thou settest unto him Thy heart?

And thy beginning hath been small, And thy latter end is very great.

'Doth a rush wise without mire? A reed increase without water?

While it is in its budding -- uncropped, Even before any herb it withereth.

Whose confidence is loathsome, And the house of a spider his trust.

Green he is before the sun, And over his garden his branch goeth out.

Lo, this is the joy of his way, And from the dust others spring up.'

Those hating thee do put on shame, And the tent of the wicked is not!

Truly I have known that it is so, And what -- is man righteous with God?

Wise in heart and strong in power -- Who hath hardened toward Him and is at peace?

Who is removing mountains, And they have not known, Who hath overturned them in His anger.

Who is shaking earth from its place, And its pillars move themselves.

Who is speaking to the sun, and it riseth not, And the stars He sealeth up.

Doing great things till there is no searching, And wonderful, till there is no numbering.

It is the same thing, therefore I said, 'The perfect and the wicked He is consuming.'

Earth hath been given Into the hand of the wicked one. The face of its judges he covereth, If not -- where, who is he?

They have passed on with ships of reed, As an eagle darteth on food.

I -- I am become wicked; why is this? In vain I labour.

If there were between us an umpire, He doth place his hand on us both.

Is it good for Thee that Thou dost oppress? That Thou despisest the labour of Thy hands, And on the counsel of the wicked hast shone?

Eyes of flesh hast Thou? As man seeth -- seest Thou?

As the days of man are Thy days? Thy years as the days of a man?

For Thou knowest that I am not wicked, And there is no deliverer from Thy hand.

Remember, I pray Thee, That as clay Thou hast made me, And unto dust Thou dost bring me back.

Dost Thou not as milk pour me out? And as cheese curdle me?

And these Thou hast laid up in Thy heart, I have known that this is with Thee.

And it riseth -- as a lion Thou huntest me. And Thou turnest back -- Thou shewest Thyself wonderful in me.

As I had not been, I am, From the belly to the grave I am brought,

A land of obscurity as thick darkness, Death-shade -- and no order, And the shining is as thick darkness.'

Is a multitude of words not answered? And is a man of lips justified?

Thy devices make men keep silent, Thou scornest, and none is causing blushing!

And thou sayest, 'Pure is my discourse, And clean I have been in Thine eyes.'

Longer than earth is its measure, And broader than the sea.

And empty man is bold, And the colt of a wild ass man is born.

If iniquity is in thy hand, put it far off, And let not perverseness dwell in thy tents.

For thou dost forget misery, As waters passed away thou rememberest.

And above the noon doth age rise, Thou fliest -- as the morning thou art.

And thou hast trusted because their is hope, And searched -- in confidence thou liest down,

And thou hast rested, And none is causing trembling, And many have entreated thy face;

And the eyes of the wicked are consumed, And refuge hath perished from them, And their hope is a breathing out of soul!

I also have a heart like you, I am not fallen more than you, And with whom is there not like these?

A laughter to his friend I am: 'He calleth to God, and He answereth him,' A laughter is the perfect righteous one.

A torch -- despised in the thoughts of the secure Is prepared for those sliding with the feet.

At peace are the tents of spoilers, And those provoking God have confidence, He into whose hand God hath brought.

In whose hand is the breath of every living thing, And the spirit of all flesh of man.'

With the very aged is wisdom, And with length of days understanding.

Lo, He breaketh down, and it is not built up, He shutteth against a man, And it is not opened.

They feel darkness, and not light, He causeth them to wander as a drunkard.

Is it good that He doth search you, If, as one mocketh at a man, ye mock at Him?

Also -- He is to me for salvation, For the profane cometh not before Him.

Who is he that doth strive with me? For now I keep silent and gasp.

And he, as a rotten thing, weareth away, As a garment hath a moth consumed him.

As a flower he hath gone forth, and is cut off, And he fleeth as a shadow and standeth not.

Look away from off him that he may cease, Till he enjoy as an hireling his day.

For there is of a tree hope, if it be cut down, That again it doth change, That its tender branch doth not cease.

From the fragrance of water it doth flourish, And hath made a crop as a plant.

And a man dieth, and becometh weak, And man expireth, and where is he?

Sealed up in a bag is my transgression, And Thou sewest up mine iniquity.

And yet, a falling mountain wasteth away, And a rock is removed from its place.

Thou prevailest over him for ever, and he goeth, He is changing his countenance, And Thou sendest him away.

Only -- his flesh for him is pained, And his soul for him doth mourn.'

Doth a wise man answer with vain knowledge? And fill with an east wind his belly?

What hast thou known, and we know not? Understandest thou -- and it is not with us?

Both the gray-headed And the very aged are among us -- Greater than thy father in days.

Too few for thee are the comforts of God? And a gentle word is with thee,

What is man that he is pure, And that he is righteous, one born of woman?

Also -- surely abominable and filthy Is man drinking as water perverseness.

Which the wise declare -- And have not hid -- from their fathers.

'All days of the wicked he is paining himself, And few years have been laid up for the terrible one.

A fearful voice is in his ears, In peace doth a destroyer come to him.