Job.
Chapter 27.
And Job adds to lift up his allegory and says: 
“God lives! He turned aside my judgment, || And the Mighty—He made my soul bitter. 
For all the while my breath is in me, || And the wind of God in my nostrils. 
My lips do not speak perverseness, || And my tongue does not utter deceit. 
Defilement to me—if I justify you, || Until I expire I do not turn aside my integrity from me. 
On my righteousness I have laid hold, || And I do not let it go, || My heart does not reproach me while I live. 
My enemy is as the wicked, || And my withstander as the perverse. 
For what is the hope of the profane, || When He cuts off? When God casts off his soul? 
Does God hear his cry, || When distress comes on him? 
Does he delight himself on the Mighty? Call God at all times? 
I show you by the hand of God, || That which is with the Mighty I do not hide. 
Behold, you—all of you—have seen, || And why is this—you are altogether vain? 
This is the portion of wicked man with God, || And the inheritance of terrible ones || They receive from the Mighty. 
If his sons multiply—a sword is for them. And his offspring are not satisfied with bread. 
His remnant are buried in death, || And his widows do not weep. 
If he heaps up silver as dust, || And prepares clothing as clay, 
He prepares—and the righteous puts it on, || And the innocent apportions the silver. 
He has built his house as a moth, || And as a shelter a watchman has made. 
He lies down rich, and he is not gathered, || He has opened his eyes, and he is not. 
Terrors overtake him as waters, || By night a whirlwind has stolen him away. 
An east wind takes him up, and he goes, || And it frightens him from his place, 
And it casts at him, and does not spare, || He diligently flees from its hand. 
It claps its hands at him, || And it hisses at him from his place.”