I am counted among those who go down to the pit; I have become like a man without strength,Abandoned among the dead, Like the slain who lie in the grave, Whom You no longer remember, And they are cut off from Your hand.
Whose collapse is like the smashing of a potter’s jar, So ruthlessly shattered That a shard will not be found among its pieces To take fire from a hearth Or to scoop water from a cistern.”
Or does the potter not have a right over the clay, to make from the same lump one object for honorable use, and another for common use?What if God, although willing to demonstrate His wrath and to make His power known, endured with great patience objects of wrath prepared for destruction?
I said,“ I will not see the Lord, The Lord in the land of the living; I will no longer look on mankind among the inhabitants of the world.Like a shepherd’s tent my dwelling is pulled up and removed from me; As a weaver I rolled up my life. He cuts me off from the loom; From day until night You make an end of me.