His archers compass me round about, he cleaveth my reins asunder, and doth not spare; he poureth out my gall upon the ground.
He breaketh me with breach upon breach, he runneth upon me like a giant.
I have sewed sackcloth upon my skin, and defiled my horn in the dust.
My face is foul with weeping, and on my eyelids [is] the shadow of death;
Not for [any] injustice in mine hands: also my prayer [is] pure.
O earth, cover not thou my blood, and let my cry have no place.
Also now, behold, my witness [is] in heaven, and my record [is] on high.
My friends scorn me: [but] mine eye poureth out [tears] unto God.
O that one might plead for a man with God, as a man [pleadeth] for his neighbour!
When a few years are come, then I shall go the way [whence] I shall not return.
