Then let my shoulder fall from the shoulder blade, And mine arm be broken from the bone.
Then let my wife grind unto another, And let others bow down upon her.
For calamity from God was a terror to me, And by reason of his excellency I could do nothing
Let thistles grow instead of wheat, And cockle instead of barley. The words of Job are ended.
And from the wicked their light is withholden, And the high arm is broken.
Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, If I remember thee not; If I prefer not Jerusalem Above my chief joy.