7 My soul refuses to touch them; They are as loathsome food to me.
8 "Oh that I might have my request; That God would grant the thing that I long for!
9 Even that it would please God to crush me; That he would let loose his hand, and cut me off!
10 Be it still my consolation, Yes, let me exult in pain that doesn`t spare, That I have not denied the words of the Holy One.
11 What is my strength, that I should wait? What is my end, that I should be patient?
12 Is my strength the strength of stones? Or is my flesh of brass?
13 Isn`t it that I have no help in me, That wisdom is driven quite from me?
