All my bones shall say, Lord, who is like thee? Thou deliverest a poor man from the hand of his stronger; a needy man and poor from them that diversely ravish him.
Thou seest, for thou beholdest travail and sorrow; that thou take them into thine hands. The poor man is left to thee; thou shalt be an helper to the fatherless and motherless.
A! thou king of folks, who shall not dread thee? for why honour is thine among all wise men of heathen men, and in all the realms of them none is like thee.