And Job answereth and saith: --

O that my provocation were thoroughly weighed, And my calamity in balances They would lift up together!

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.

O that my request may come, That God may grant my hope!

That God would please -- and bruise me, Loose His hand and cut me off!

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.

By the time they are warm they have been cut off, By its being hot they have been Extinguished from their place.

Turn aside do the paths of their way, They ascend into emptiness, and are lost.

Passengers of Tema looked expectingly, Travellers of Sheba hoped for them.

They were ashamed that one hath trusted, They have come unto it and are confounded.

Surely now ye have become the same! Ye see a downfall, and are afraid.

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

And, Deliver me from the hand of an adversary? And, From the hand of terrible ones ransom me?

Shew me, and I -- I keep silent, And what I have erred, let me understand.

How powerful have been upright sayings, And what doth reproof from you reprove?

For reproof -- do you reckon words? And for wind -- sayings of the desperate.

Anger on the fatherless ye cause to fall, And are strange to your friend.

And, now, please, look upon me, Even to your face do I lie?

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?