7 My soul is refusing to touch! They [are] as my sickening food.
8 O that my request may come, That God may grant my hope!
9 That God would please -- and bruise me, Loose His hand and cut me off!
10 And yet it is my comfort, (And I exult in pain -- He doth not spare,) That I have not hidden The sayings of the Holy One.
11 What [is] my power that I should hope? And what mine end That I should prolong my life?
12 Is my strength the strength of stones? Is my flesh brazen?
13 Is not my help with me, And substance driven from me?
