I have sewed sackcloth upon my skin, And have laid my horn in the dust. My face is red with weeping, And on my eyelids is the shadow of death; Although there is no violence in my hands, And my prayer is pure. O earth, cover not thou my blood, And let my cry have no resting-place. Even now, behold, my witness is in heaven, And he that voucheth for me is on high. My friends scoff at me: But mine eye poureth out tears unto God, That he would maintain the right of a man with God, And of a son of man with his neighbor! For when a few years are come, I shall go the way whence I shall not return.
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