The Book of Job

⭑ Literal Standard Version :: World English Bible Catholic ⭑

- Chapter 30 -

“And now, laughed at me, || Have the younger in days than I, || Whose fathers I have loathed to set || With the dogs of my flock.

Also—the power of their hands, why [is it] to me? On them old age has perished.

With want and with harsh famine, || They are gnawing a dry place [in] the recent night, || [In] desolation and ruin,

Those cropping mallows near a shrub, || And their food [is] root of broom trees.

They are cast out from the midst || (They shout against them as a thief),

To dwell in a frightful place of valleys, || Holes of earth and clefts.

They groan among shrubs, || They are gathered together under nettles.

Sons of folly—even sons without name, || They have been struck from the land.

And now, I have been their song, || And I am to them for a byword.

They have detested me, || They have kept far from me, || And from before me have not spared to spit.

Because He loosed His cord and afflicts me, || And the bridle from before me, || They have cast away.

A brood arises on the right hand, || They have cast away my feet, || And they raise up against me, || Their paths of calamity.

They have broken down my path, || They profit by my calamity: He has no helper.

They come as a wide breach, || Under the desolation have rolled themselves.

He has turned terrors against me, || It pursues my abundance as the wind, || And as a thick cloud, || My safety has passed away.

And now, in me my soul pours itself out, || Days of affliction seize me.

[At] night my bone has been pierced in me, || And my gnawing [pain] does not lie down.

By the abundance of power, || Is my clothing changed, || As the mouth of my coat it girds me.

Casting me into mire, || And I have become like dust and ashes.

I cry to You, || And You do not answer me, I have stood, and You consider me.

You are turned to be fierce to me, || With the strength of Your hand, || You oppress me.

You lift me up, || You cause me to ride on the wind, || And You melt—You level me.

For I have known You bring me back [to] death, || And [to] the house appointed for all living.

Surely not against the heap || Does He send forth the hand, || Though they have safety in its ruin.

Did I not weep for him whose day is hard? My soul has grieved for the needy.

When I expected good, then comes evil, || And I wait for light, and darkness comes.

My bowels have boiled, and have not ceased, || Days of affliction have gone before me.

I have gone mourning without the sun, || I have risen, I cry in an assembly.

I have been a brother to dragons, || And a companion to daughters of the ostrich.

My skin has been black on me, || And my bone has burned from heat,

And my harp becomes mourning, || And my pipe the sound of weeping.”

“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.