17 Because with a tempest He bruiseth me, And hath multiplied my wounds for nought.
18 He permitteth me not to refresh my spirit, But filleth me with bitter things.
19 If of power, lo, the Strong One; And if of judgment -- who doth convene me?
20 If I be righteous, Mine mouth doth declare me wicked, Perfect I am! -- it declareth me perverse.
21 Perfect I am! -- I know not my soul, I despise my life.
22 It is the same thing, therefore I said, `The perfect and the wicked He is consuming.`
23 If a scourge doth put to death suddenly, At the trial of the innocent He laugheth.
