24 Why dost Thou hide Thy face? And reckonest me for an enemy to Thee?
25 A leaf driven away dost Thou terrify? And the dry stubble dost Thou pursue?
26 For Thou writest against me bitter things, And causest me to possess iniquities of my youth:
27 And puttest in the stocks my feet, And observest all my paths, On the roots of my feet Thou settest a print,
28 And he, as a rotten thing, weareth away, As a garment hath a moth consumed him.