And Jehovah hath delighted to bruise him, He hath made him sick, If his soul doth make an offering for guilt, He seeth seed -- he prolongeth days, And the pleasure of Jehovah in his hand doth prosper.
They do not build, and another inhabit, They do not plant, and another eat, For as the days of a tree `are' the days of My people, And the work of their hands wear out do My chosen ones.
See ye, now, that I -- I `am' He, And there is no god with Me: I put to death, and I keep alive; I have smitten, and I heal; And there is not from My hand a deliverer,