Is my strength the strength of stones? Or is my flesh bronze?
How have you helped the powerless, or saved the arm that has no strength?
His bones are like tubes of bronze; his bones are like bars of iron.
His heart is cast hard as a stone, even cast hard as a piece of a riding millstone.
What is my strength, that I should hope? And what is my end, that I should be patient?
Is not my help in me? And is wisdom fully driven away from me?