And Job addeth to lift up his simile, and saith: --

God liveth! He turned aside my judgment, And the Mighty -- He made my soul bitter.

For all the while my breath `is' in me, And the spirit of God in my nostrils.

My lips do not speak perverseness, And my tongue doth not utter deceit.

Pollution to me -- if I justify you, Till I expire I turn not aside mine integrity from me.

On my righteousness I have laid hold, And I do not let it go, My heart doth not reproach me while I live.

As the wicked is my enemy, And my withstander as the perverse.

For what `is' the hope of the profane, When He doth cut off? When God doth cast off his soul?

His cry doth God hear, When distress cometh on him?

On the Mighty doth he delight himself? Call God at all times?

I shew you by the hand of God, That which `is' with the Mighty I hide not.

Lo, ye -- all of you -- have seen, And why `is' this -- ye are altogether vain?

This `is' the portion of wicked man with God, And the inheritance of terrible ones From the Mighty they receive.

If his sons multiply -- for them `is' a sword. And his offspring `are' not satisfied `with' bread.

His remnant in death are buried, And his widows do not weep.

If he heap up as dust silver, And as clay prepare clothing,

He prepareth -- and the righteous putteth `it' on, And the silver the innocent doth apportion.

He hath built as a moth his house, And as a booth a watchman hath made.

Rich he lieth down, and he is not gathered, His eyes he hath opened, and he is not.

Overtake him as waters do terrors, By night stolen him away hath a whirlwind.

Take him up doth an east wind, and he goeth, And it frighteneth him from his place,

And it casteth at him, and doth not spare, From its hand he diligently fleeth.

It clappeth at him its hands, And it hisseth at him from his place.