Job 30

¹ But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.

² Yea, the strength of their hands, whereto should it profit me? men in whom ripe age is perished.

³ They are gaunt with want and famine; they gnaw the dry ground; in the gloom of wasteness and desolation.

⁴ They pluck salt-wort by the bushes; and the roots of the broom are their meat.

⁵ They are driven forth from the midst of men; they cry after them as after a thief.

⁶ In the clefts of the valleys must they dwell, in holes of the earth and of the rocks.

⁷ Among the bushes they bray; under the nettles they are gathered together.

⁸ They are children of fools, yea, children of base men; they were scourged out of the land.

⁹ And now I am become their song, yea, I am a byword unto them.

¹⁰ They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and spare not to spit in my face.

¹¹ For he hath loosed his cord, and afflicted me, and they have cast off the bridle before me.

¹² Upon my right hand rise the rabble; they thrust aside my feet, and they cast up against me their ways of destruction.

¹³ They mar my path, they set forward my calamity, even men that have no helper.

¹⁴ As through a wide breach they come: in the midst of the ruin they roll themselves upon me.

¹⁵ Terrors are turned upon me, they chase mine honour as the wind; and my welfare is passed away as a cloud.

¹⁶ And now my soul is poured out within me; days of affliction have taken hold upon me.

¹⁷ In the night season my bones are pierced in me, and the pains that gnaw me take no rest.

¹⁸ By the great force of my disease is my garment disfigured: it bindeth me about as the collar of my coat.

¹⁹ He hath cast me into the mire, and I am become like dust and ashes.

²⁰ I cry unto thee, and thou dost not answer me: I stand up, and thou lookest at me.

²¹ Thou art turned to be cruel to me: with the might of thy hand thou persecutest me.

²² Thou liftest me up to the wind, thou causest me to ride upon it; and thou dissolvest me in the storm.

²³ For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living.

²⁴ Surely against a ruinous heap he will not put forth his hand; though it be in his destruction, one may utter a cry because of these things.

²⁵ Did not I weep for him that was in trouble? was not my soul grieved for the needy?

²⁶ When I looked for good, then evil came; and when I waited for light, there came darkness.

²⁷ My bowels boil, and rest not; days of affliction are come upon me.

²⁸ I go mourning without the sun: I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.

²⁹ I am a brother to jackals, and a companion to ostriches.

³⁰ My skin is black, and falleth from me, and my bones are burned with heat.

³¹ Therefore is my harp turned to mourning, and my pipe into the voice of them that weep.