In the sweat of thy face thou shall eat bread, till thou return to the ground, for out of it thou were taken. For thou are dust, and to dust thou shall return.
Woe to him who strives with his maker, a potsherd among the potsherds of the earth! Shall the clay say to him that fashions it, What are thou making? or thy work, He has no hands?
And why do thou not pardon my transgression, and take away my iniquity? For now I shall lay down in the dust, and thou will seek me diligently, but I shall not be.
And there is none who calls upon thy name, who stirs himself up to take hold of thee. For thou have hid thy face from us, and have consumed us through our iniquities.