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Job 30
Job 30
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1
“But now those who are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I considered unworthy to put with my sheep dogs.
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Of what use is the strength of their hands to me, men in whom ripe age has perished?
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They are gaunt from lack and famine. They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of waste and desolation.
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They pluck salt herbs by the bushes. The roots of the broom tree are their food.
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They are driven out from among men. They cry after them as after a thief,
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so that they live in frightful valleys, and in holes of the earth and of the rocks.
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They bray among the bushes. They are gathered together under the nettles.
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They are children of fools, yes, children of wicked men. They were flogged out of the land.
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“Now I have become their song. Yes, I am a byword to them.
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They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and don’t hesitate to spit in my face.
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For he has untied his cord, and afflicted me; and they have thrown off restraint before me.
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On my right hand rise the rabble. They thrust aside my feet. They cast their ways of destruction up against me.
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They mar my path. They promote my destruction without anyone’s help.
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As through a wide breach they come. They roll themselves in amid the ruin.
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Terrors have turned on me. They chase my honor as the wind. My welfare has passed away as a cloud.
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“Now my soul is poured out within me. Days of affliction have taken hold of me.
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In the night season my bones are pierced in me, and the pains that gnaw me take no rest.
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My garment is disfigured by great force. It binds me about as the collar of my tunic.
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He has cast me into the mire. I have become like dust and ashes.
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I cry to you, and you do not answer me. I stand up, and you gaze at me.
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You have turned to be cruel to me. With the might of your hand you persecute me.
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You lift me up to the wind, and drive me with it. You dissolve me in the storm.
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For I know that you will bring me to death, to the house appointed for all living.
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“However doesn’t one stretch out a hand in his fall? Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?
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Didn’t I weep for him who was in trouble? Wasn’t my soul grieved for the needy?
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When I looked for good, then evil came. When I waited for light, darkness came.
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My heart is troubled, and doesn’t rest. Days of affliction have come on me.
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I go mourning without the sun. I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.
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I am a brother to jackals, and a companion to ostriches.
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My skin grows black and peels from me. My bones are burned with heat.
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Therefore my harp has turned to mourning, and my pipe into the voice of those who weep.
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