|Have mercy on me, have compassion on me, at least you my friends, because the hand of the Lord has touched me.
|Why do you pursue me just as God does, and satiate yourselves with my flesh?
|Who will grant to me that my words may be written down? Who will grant to me that they may be inscribed in a book,
|with an iron pen and a plate of lead, or else be carved in stone?
|For I know that my Redeemer lives, and on the last day I will rise out of the earth.
|And I will be enveloped again with my skin, and in my flesh I will see my God.
|It is he whom I myself will see, and he whom my eyes will behold, and no other. This, my hope, has taken rest in my bosom.