Job30

¹“But now those who are younger than I mock me, Whose fathers I refused to put with the dogs of my flock.

²Indeed, what good was the strength of their hands to me? Vigor had perished from them.

³From poverty and famine they are gaunt, They who gnaw at the dry ground by night in waste and desolation,

⁴Who pluck saltweed by the bushes, And whose food is the root of the broom shrub.

⁵They are driven from the community; They shout against them as against a thief,

⁶So that they live on the slopes of ravines, In holes in the ground and among the rocks.

⁷Among the bushes they cry out; Under the weeds they are gathered together.

⁸Worthless fellows, even those without a name, They were cast out from the land.

⁹“And now I have become their taunt, And I have become a byword to them.

¹⁰They loathe me and stand aloof from me, And they do not refrain from spitting in my face.

¹¹Because He has undone my bowstring and afflicted me, They have cast off the bridle before me.

¹²On the right hand their mob arises; They push aside my feet and pile up their ways of destruction against me.

¹³They break up my path, They promote my destruction; No one restrains them.

¹⁴As through a wide gap they come, Amid the storm they roll on.

¹⁵Sudden terrors are turned upon me; They chase away my dignity like the wind, And my prosperity has passed away like a cloud.

¹⁶“And now my soul is poured out within me; Days of misery have seized me.

¹⁷At night it pierces my bones within me, And my gnawing pains do not rest.

¹⁸By a great force my garment is distorted; It ties me up like the collar of my coat.

¹⁹He has thrown me into the mire, And I have become like dust and ashes.

²⁰I cry out to You for help, but You do not answer me; I stand up, and You turn Your attention against me.

²¹You have become cruel to me; With the strength of Your hand You persecute me.

²²You lift me up to the wind and make me ride it; And You dissolve me in a storm.

²³For I know that You will bring me to death, And to the house of meeting for all living.

²⁴“Yet does one in a heap of ruins not reach out with his hand, Or in his disaster does he not cry out for help?

²⁵Have I not wept for the one whose life is hard? Was my soul not grieved for the needy?

²⁶When I expected good, evil came; When I waited for light, darkness came.

²⁷I am seething within and cannot rest; Days of misery confront me.

²⁸I go about mourning without comfort; I stand up in the assembly and cry out for help.

²⁹I have become a brother to jackals, And a companion of ostriches.

³⁰My skin turns black on me, And my bones burn with fever.

³¹Therefore my harp is turned to mourning, And my flute to the sound of those who weep.