let my shoulder fall from the blade, and let my arm be broken from the bone.
let my wife grind to another, and let others crouch over her.
For calamity from God is a terror to me, and I could not do the thing because of His majesty.
let thorns come forth instead of wheat, and a weed instead of barley. The words of Job are finished.
And their light is withheld from the wicked ones, and the high arm shall be broken.
let my tongue cleave to my palate, if I do not remember you, if I do not bring up Jerusalem above the head of my joy.