Plowmen have plowed my back and made their furrows long.
Can you hold it to the furrow with a harness? Will it till the valleys behind you?
They will say, “As one plows and breaks up the earth, so our bones have been scattered at the mouth of the grave.”
I offered my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard; I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting.
I will put it into the hands of your tormentors, who said to you, ‘Fall prostrate that we may walk on you.’ And you made your back like the ground, like a street to be walked on.”