¹⁵ And where `is' now my hope? Yea, my hope, who doth behold it?

¹⁵ Lo, He doth slay me -- I wait not! Only, my ways unto His face I argue.

¹⁰ He breaketh me down round about, and I go, And removeth like a tree my hope.

⁶ Is not thy reverence thy confidence? Thy hope -- the perfection of thy ways?

¹¹ What `is' my power that I should hope? And what mine end That I should prolong my life?

⁶ My days swifter than a weaving machine, And they are consumed without hope.