Those who live in my house and my servant women consider me a stranger. I am a foreigner in their sight.
I call to my servant, but he does not answer; I have to implore his favor with my mouth.
My breath is offensive to my wife, And I am loathsome to my own brothers.
Even young children despise me; I stand up and they speak against me.
All my associates loathe me, And those I love have turned against me.
My bone clings to my skin and my flesh, And I have escaped only
by the skin of my teeth.
Pity me, pity me, you friends of mine, For the hand of God has struck me.
Why do you persecute me as God does,
And are not satisfied with my flesh?
'Oh that my words were written! Oh that they were recorded in a book!
That with an iron stylus and lead They were engraved in the rock forever!
Yet as for me, I know that my Redeemer lives, And at the last, He will take His stand on the earth.