The Book of Job

⭑ Unlocked Dynamic Bible :: World English Bible Catholic ⭑

- Chapter 30 -

“But now, men who are younger than I am make fun of me, men whose fathers I greatly despised, their fathers, whom I would not even have allowed to help my dogs guard my sheep.

They were men who were old and weak; what could I gain from having these men work for me, even when they thought they were strong?

They were very poor and hungry, so that they chewed on roots at night in dry and desolate places.

They pulled up plants in the desert and ate them; they warmed themselves by burning the roots of broom trees.

Everyone shouted at them, “Stop, thief!” and drove them from their area.

They were forced to live in riverbeds, in holes in the ground, and in the sides of cliffs.

In the bushes they howled like animals because they were hungry, and they huddled together under thornbushes.

They were people without good sense, whose names no one knows; they were driven out from the land where they were born.

Now their children sing songs to make fun of me. They tell jokes about me.

They are disgusted with me, and they stay away from me, but when they see me, they are happy to spit in my face.

It seems as though God had cut my bowstring and caused me to be unable to defend myself; he has humbled me, and my enemies have done to me whatever they wanted.

Gangs of these people attack me and force me to run away; they prepare to destroy me.

They prevent me from escaping, and there is no one to keep them from attacking me.

It is as though I were a city wall and they had broken through it, as though they had come crashing down on me.

I am very terrified; my dignity has been blown away by the wind, and my prosperity has disappeared as clouds disappear.

Now I am about to die; I suffer every day.

My bones ache during the nights, and the pain that torments me never stops.

It is as though God had grabbed my clothes and choked me by the collar of my coat.

He has thrown me into the mud; I am not worth anything more than dust and ashes.

I cry out to you, God, but you do not answer me; I stand up and pray, but you do not pay any attention.

You act very cruelly toward me; with all of your power you cause me to suffer.

You allow the wind to lift me up and blow me away; and you make a violent storm blow me around.

I know that you will cause me to die, which is what happens to everyone who is alive.

When people experience disasters, they sit on a pile of ruins and cry out for help; they certainly cry out for help.

I myself wept for people who were experiencing troubles, and I felt sorry for poor people.

However, when I expected good things to happen to me, evil things happened; when I waited for light, I experienced darkness instead.

I am very distressed all the time; I suffer every day.

I go about very discouraged; I stand up and plead for people to help me.

My wailing is as sad as jackals and ostriches in the wilderness.

My skin has become dark and is peeling off, and I have a fever which causes my body to feel as though it were burning up with a fever.

Previously, I played joyful music on my harp and with my flute, but now I play only the sad music of those who mourn.”

“But now those who are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I considered unworthy to put with my sheep dogs.

Of what use is the strength of their hands to me, men in whom ripe age has perished?

They are gaunt from lack and famine. They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of waste and desolation.

They pluck salt herbs by the bushes. The roots of the broom tree are their food.

They are driven out from among men. They cry after them as after a thief,

so that they live in frightful valleys, and in holes of the earth and of the rocks.

They bray among the bushes. They are gathered together under the nettles.

They are children of fools, yes, children of wicked men. They were flogged out of the land.

“Now I have become their song. Yes, I am a byword to them.

They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and don’t hesitate to spit in my face.

For he has untied his cord, and afflicted me; and they have thrown off restraint before me.

On my right hand rise the rabble. They thrust aside my feet. They cast their ways of destruction up against me.

They mar my path. They promote my destruction without anyone’s help.

As through a wide breach they come. They roll themselves in amid the ruin.

Terrors have turned on me. They chase my honor as the wind. My welfare has passed away as a cloud.

“Now my soul is poured out within me. Days of affliction have taken hold of me.

In the night season my bones are pierced in me, and the pains that gnaw me take no rest.

My garment is disfigured by great force. It binds me about as the collar of my tunic.

He has cast me into the mire. I have become like dust and ashes.

I cry to you, and you do not answer me. I stand up, and you gaze at me.

You have turned to be cruel to me. With the might of your hand you persecute me.

You lift me up to the wind, and drive me with it. You dissolve me in the storm.

For I know that you will bring me to death, to the house appointed for all living.

“However doesn’t one stretch out a hand in his fall? Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?

Didn’t I weep for him who was in trouble? Wasn’t my soul grieved for the needy?

When I looked for good, then evil came. When I waited for light, darkness came.

My heart is troubled, and doesn’t rest. Days of affliction have come on me.

I go mourning without the sun. I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.

I am a brother to jackals, and a companion to ostriches.

My skin grows black and peels from me. My bones are burned with heat.

Therefore my harp has turned to mourning, and my pipe into the voice of those who weep.