What then would be one’s lot from God above, one’s heritage from the Almighty on high?

“Oh, if only my grief could be weighed, and my misfortune laid on the scales too!

Nor is there an arbiter between us, who might lay his hand on us both,

“O that my words were written down, O that they were written on a scroll,

After I had spoken, they did not respond; my words fell on them drop by drop.

I put on righteousness and it clothed me, my just dealing was like a robe and a turban;

For we were born yesterday and do not have knowledge, since our days on earth are but a shadow.

Do you fix your eye on such a one? And do you bring me before you for judgment?

his archers surround me. Without pity he pierces my kidneys and pours out my gall on the ground.

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

Will you speak wickedly on God’s behalf? Will you speak deceitfully for him?

My skin has turned dark on me; my body is hot with fever.

It looks on every haughty being; it is king over all that are proud.”

“Does not humanity have hard service on earth? Are not their days also like the days of a hired man?

He marks out the horizon on the surface of the waters as a boundary between light and darkness.

Or a person is chastened by pain on his bed, and with the continual strife of his bones,

On the flinty rock man has set to work with his hand; he has overturned mountains at their bases.

and he contends with God on behalf of man as a man pleads for his friend.

Although you were a powerful man, owning land, an honored man living on it,

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