But now, please look at me. Would I lie to your face?

Reconsider; do not be unjust. Reconsider, for my righteousness is at stake.

Is there iniquity on my tongue? Can my mouth not discern malice?

Like a slave he longs for shade; like a hireling he waits for his wages.

So I am allotted months of futility, and nights of misery are appointed to me.

When I lie down I think: ‘When will I get up?’ But the night drags on, and I toss and turn until dawn.

My flesh is clothed with worms and encrusted with dirt; my skin is cracked and festering.

My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.

If He takes away, who can stop Him? Who dares to ask Him, ‘What are You doing?’

If I summoned Him and He answered me, I do not believe He would listen to my voice.

For He would crush me with a tempest and multiply my wounds without cause.

He does not let me catch my breath, but overwhelms me with bitterness.

If it is a matter of strength, He is indeed mighty! If it is a matter of justice, who can summon Him?

Even if I were righteous, my mouth would condemn me; if I were blameless, it would declare me guilty.

Though I am blameless, I have no concern for myself; I despise my own life.

It is all the same, and so I say, ‘He destroys both the blameless and the wicked.’

When the scourge brings sudden death, He mocks the despair of the innocent.

The earth is given into the hand of the wicked; He blindfolds its judges. If it is not He, then who is it?

My days are swifter than a runner; they flee without seeing good.

They sweep by like boats of papyrus, like an eagle swooping down on its prey.

If I were to say, ‘I will forget my complaint and change my expression and smile,’

I would still dread all my sufferings; I know that You will not acquit me.

Since I am already found guilty, why should I labor in vain?

If I should wash myself with snow and cleanse my hands with lye,

then You would plunge me into the pit, and even my own clothes would despise me.