And where `is' now my hope? Yea, my hope, who doth behold it?
Lo, He doth slay me -- I wait not! Only, my ways unto His face I argue.
Stones have waters worn away, Their outpourings wash away the dust of earth, And the hope of man Thou hast destroyed.
He breaketh me down round about, and I go, And removeth like a tree my hope.
Is not thy reverence thy confidence? Thy hope -- the perfection of thy ways?
What `is' my power that I should hope? And what mine end That I should prolong my life?
My days swifter than a weaving machine, And they are consumed without hope.
`I -- I said in the cutting off of my days, I go in to the gates of Sheol, I have numbered the remnant of mine years.
And I say, Perished hath my strength and my hope from Jehovah.
And He saith unto me, `Son of man, these bones are the whole house of Israel; lo, they are saying: Dried up have our bones, And perished hath our hope, We have been cut off by ourselves.