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Does he not see my ways, and are not my steps all numbered?

If I have gone in false ways, or my foot has been quick in working deceit;

Is it not trouble for the sinner, and destruction for the evil-doers?

And my music has been turned to sorrow, and the sound of my pipe into the noise of weeping.

Job 31

For what is God's reward from on high, or the heritage given by the Ruler of all from heaven?

My skin is black and dropping off me; and my bones are burning with the heat of my disease.

I made an agreement with my eyes; how then might my eyes be looking on a virgin?

They were waiting for me as for the rain, opening their mouths wide as for the spring rains.

They have to get a resting-place in the hollows of the valleys, in holes of the earth and rocks.

I go about in dark clothing, uncomforted; I get up in the public place, crying out for help.

You have become cruel to me; the strength of your hand is hard on me.

You give no answer to my cry, and take no note of my prayer.

My root will be open to the waters, and the night mist will be on my branches,

But now my soul is turned to water in me, days of trouble overtake me:

Men gave ear to me, waiting and keeping quiet for my suggestions.

But now those who are younger than I make sport of me; those whose fathers I would not have put with the dogs of my flocks.

As through a wide broken place in the wall they come on, I am overturned by the shock of their attack.

Of what use is the strength of their hands to me? all force is gone from them.

Has not my hand been stretched out in help to the poor? have I not been a saviour to him in his trouble?

And now I have become their song, and I am a word of shame to them.

They have made waste my roads, with a view to my destruction; his bowmen come round about me;

After I had said what was in my mind, they were quiet and let my words go deep into their hearts;

Have I not been weeping for the crushed? and was not my soul sad for him who was in need?

For he has made loose the cord of my bow, and put me to shame; he has sent down my flag to the earth before me.

They are sons of shame, and of men without a name, who have been forced out of the land.

Fears have come on me; my hope is gone like the wind, and my well-being like a cloud.

I am disgusting to them; they keep away from me, and put marks of shame on me.

They are pulling off the salt leaves from the brushwood, and making a meal of roots.

They are sent out from among their townsmen, men are crying after them as thieves