Oh that my grief were throughly weighed, and my calamity laid in the balances together!
For now it would be heavier than the sand of the sea: therefore my words are swallowed up.
For the arrows of the Almighty [are] within me, the poison whereof drinketh up my spirit: the terrors of God do set themselves in array against me.
Doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass? or loweth the ox over his fodder?
Can that which is unsavoury be eaten without salt? or is there [any] taste in the white of an egg?
The things [that] my soul refused to touch [are] as my sorrowful meat.
Oh that I might have my request; and that God would grant [me] the thing that I long for!
Even that it would please God to destroy me; that he would let loose his hand, and cut me off!
Then should I yet have comfort; yea, I would harden myself in sorrow: let him not spare; for I have not concealed the words of the Holy One.
What [is] my strength, that I should hope? and what [is] mine end, that I should prolong my life?
