4 For the arrows of Shaddai are in me, my spirit drinks in their poison; God’s terrors line up against me.
5 Does a wild donkey bray over fresh grass or an ox bellow over his fodder?
6 Is something bland eaten without salt, is there taste in the white of an egg?
7 My soul refuses to touch them; they are like sickening food to me.
8 Oh that my request would be realized, that God would grant my hope;
9 that God would be willing to crush me, to release His hand, and cut me off!
10 Then I would still be comforted, even rejoice in spite of unrelenting pain, for I have not denied the words of the Holy One.