Only his flesh has pain for himself, and he mourns for himself.”

The light in his tent grows dark; his lamp above him is extinguished.

A trap seizes him by the heel; a snare grips him.

He conceals the face of the full moon, shrouding it with his clouds.

It claps its hands at him in derision and hisses him away from his place.

when I prescribed its limits, and set in place its bolts and doors,

On it the quiver rattles; the lance and javelin flash.

When he pulls it out and it comes out of his back, the gleaming point out of his liver, terrors come over him.

Does God listen to his cry when distress overtakes him?

It hurls itself against him without pity as he flees headlong from its power.

Proud beasts have not set foot on it, and no lion has passed along it.

Who entrusted to him the earth? And who put him over the whole world?

so that they caused the cry of the poor to come before him, so that he hears the cry of the needy.

Who has prescribed his ways for him? Or said to him, ‘You have done what is wicked’?

See how he scattered his lightning about him; he has covered the depths of the sea.

His thunder announces the coming storm, the cattle also, concerning the storm’s approach.

Will partners bargain for it? Will they divide it up among the merchants?

If you lay your hand on it, you will remember the fight, and you will never do it again!

The folds of its flesh are tightly joined; they are firm on it, immovable.

That day – let it be darkness; let not God on high regard it, nor let light shine on it!