He will not suffer me to take my breath,
But filleth me with bitterness.
If strength be aught, lo, he is strong,
And if judgment, who shall arraign him?
LXXIII
Though I were just, my own mouth would condemn me:
Though I were faultless, he would make me crooked.
Faultless I am, I set life at naught;
I spurn my being, therefore I speak out.
LXXIV
He destroyeth the upright and the wicked,
When his scourge slayeth at unawares.
He scoffeth at the trial of the innocent:
The earth is given into the hand of the wicked.
LXXV
My days are swifter than a runner:
They flee away, they have seen no good;
They glide along like papyrus-boats,
Like the eagle swooping upon its prey.
LXXVI
If I say: "I will forget my complaint,
I will gladden my face and be cheerful;"
Then I shudder at all my sorrows:
I know thou wilt not hold me guiltless.