| Chapter 13 |
1 | Lo, all -- hath mine eye seen, Heard hath mine ear, and it attendeth to it.
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2 | According to your knowledge I have known -- also I. I am not fallen more than you.
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3 | Yet I for the Mighty One do speak, And to argue for God I delight.
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4 | And yet, ye [are] forgers of falsehood, Physicians of nought -- all of you,
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5 | O that ye would keep perfectly silent, And it would be to you for wisdom.
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6 | Hear, I pray you, my argument, And to the pleadings of my lips attend,
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7 | For God do ye speak perverseness? And for Him do ye speak deceit?
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8 | His face do ye accept, if for God ye strive?
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9 | Is [it] good that He doth search you, If, as one mocketh at a man, ye mock at Him?
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10 | He doth surely reprove you, if in secret ye accept faces.
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11 | Doth not His excellency terrify you? And His dread fall upon you?
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12 | Your remembrances [are] similes of ashes, For high places of clay your heights.
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13 | Keep silent from me, and I speak, And pass over me doth what?
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14 | Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth? And my soul put in my hand?
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15 | Lo, He doth slay me -- I wait not! Only, my ways unto His face I argue.
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16 | Also -- He [is] to me for salvation, For the profane cometh not before Him.
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17 | Hear ye diligently my word, And my declaration with your ears.
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18 | Lo, I pray you, I have set in order the cause, I have known that I am righteous.
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19 | Who [is] he that doth strive with me? For now I keep silent and gasp.
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20 | Only two things, O God, do with me: Then from Thy face I am not hidden.
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21 | Thy hand put far off from me, And Thy terror let not terrify me.
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22 | And call Thou, and I -- I answer, Or -- I speak, and answer Thou me.
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23 | How many iniquities and sins have I? My transgression and my sin let me know.
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24 | Why dost Thou hide Thy face? And reckonest me for an enemy to Thee?
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25 | A leaf driven away dost Thou terrify? And the dry stubble dost Thou pursue?
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26 | For Thou writest against me bitter things, And causest me to possess iniquities of my youth:
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27 | And puttest in the stocks my feet, And observest all my paths, On the roots of my feet Thou settest a print,
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28 | And he, as a rotten thing, weareth away, As a garment hath a moth consumed him.
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