I become afraid of all my suffering, for I know thou wilt not hold me innocent.
I shall be condemned; why then do I labor in vain?
If I wash myself with snow, and cleanse my hands with lye,
yet thou wilt plunge me into a pit, and my own clothes will abhor me.
For he is not a man, as I am, that I might answer him, that we should come to trial together.
There is no umpire between us, who might lay his hand upon us both.
Let him take his rod away from me, and let not dread of him terrify me.
Then I would speak without fear of him, for I am not so in myself.