The plowers plowed on my back; they made their furrows long.
Can you tie the wild ox in the furrow with his rope? Or will he harrow the valleys for you?
Our bones are scattered at the grave's mouth, as when one cuts and splits wood on the earth.
I gave My back to the strikers, and My cheeks to pluckers; I did not hide My face from shame and spitting.
But I will put it into the hand of those who afflict you, who have said to your soul, Bow down so that we may cross; and put your back as the ground, even as the street to those who cross.