I am afraid of all my sorrows.
I know that you will not hold me innocent.
I will be condemned.
Why then do I labor in vain?
If I wash myself with snow, and cleanse my hands with lye, yet you will plunge me in the ditch.
My own clothes will abhor me.
For he is not a man, as I am, that I should answer him, that we should come together in judgment.
There is no umpire between us, that might lay his hand on us both.
Let him take his rod away from me.
Let his terror not make me afraid;