Concerning my right, should I lie? My wound is incurable, although I am without transgression.’
For the arrows of Shaddai are in me, my spirit drinks in their poison; God’s terrors line up against me.
His archers surround me. Without mercy He pierces my kidneys and spills my gall on the ground.
Why is my pain unending and my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? Will You be to me like a mirage of water that is undependable?
‘I am pure, without transgression; I am innocent, without iniquity.