Thy hands have taken pains about me, And they make me together round about, And Thou swallowest me up!
Is it good for Thee that Thou dost oppress? That Thou despisest the labour of Thy hands, And on the counsel of the wicked hast shone?
Who `is' he that doth strive with me? For now I keep silent and gasp.
For I have known To death Thou dost bring me back, And `to' the house appointed for all living.
Because with a tempest He bruiseth me, And hath multiplied my wounds for nought.
It is the same thing, therefore I said, `The perfect and the wicked He is consuming.'
Know that Jehovah He `is' God, He made us, and we are His, His people -- and the flock of His pasture.
`Yod.' Thy hands made me and establish me, Cause me to understand, and I learn Thy commands.
Jehovah doth perfect for me, O Jehovah, Thy kindness `is' to the age, The works of Thy hands let not fall!
My substance was not hid from Thee, When I was made in secret, Curiously wrought in the lower part of earth.
Mine unformed substance Thine eyes saw, And on Thy book all of them are written, The days they were formed -- And not one among them.
Who is forming their hearts together, Who is attending unto all their works.
Every one who is called by My name, Even for My honour I have created him, I have formed him, yea, I have made him.