Job reproaches his merciless friends
							
																								
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									Then Job answered and said,
								
							 
																								
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									“I have heard many such things; you are all miserable comforters.
								
							 
																								
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									Will useless words ever have an end? What is wrong with you that you answer like this?
								
							 
																								
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									I also could speak as you do, if you were in my place; I could collect and join words together against you and shake my head at you in mockery.
								
							 
																								
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									Oh, how I would encourage you with my mouth! How the comfort from my lips would lighten your grief!
								
							 
																								
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									If I speak, my grief is not lessened; if I keep from speaking, how am I helped?
								
							 
																								
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									But now, God, you have made me weary; you have made all my family desolate.
								
							 
																								
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									You have made me dry up, which itself is a witness against me; the leanness of my body rises up against me, and it testifies against my face.
								
							 
																								
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									God has torn me in his wrath and persecuted me; He has gnashed me with his teeth; my enemy fastens his eyes on me as he tears me apart.
								
							 
																								
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									People have gaped with open mouth at me; they have hit me reproachfully on the cheek; they have gathered together against me.
								
							 
																								
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									God hands me over to ungodly people, and throws me into the hands of wicked people.
								
							 
																								
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									I was at ease, and he broke me apart. Indeed, he has taken me by the neck and dashed me to pieces; he has also set me up as his target.
								
							 
																								
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									His archers surround me all around; God pierces my kidneys and does not spare me; he pours out my bile on the ground.
								
							 
																								
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									He smashes through my wall again and again; he runs upon me like a warrior.
								
							 
																								
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									I have sewn sackcloth on my skin; I have thrust my horn into the ground.
								
							 
																								
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									My face is red with weeping; on my eyelids is the shadow of death,
								
							 
																								
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									although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure.
								
							 
																								
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									Earth, do not cover up my blood; let my cry have no resting place.
								
							 
																								
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									Even now, see, my witness is in heaven; he who vouches for me is on high.
								
							 
																								
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									My friends scoff at me, but my eye pours out tears to God.
								
							 
																								
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									I ask for that witness in heaven to argue for this man with God as a man does with his neighbor!
								
							 
																								
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									For when a few years have passed, I will go to a place from where I will not return.
								
							 
																						
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