Job 13 | Strong's Bible

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CHAPTER 13

Behold,

my eyes

have seen

all this;

my ears

have heard

and understood.

What you know,

I

also

know;

I

am not

inferior

to you.

Yet

I

desire

to speak

to

the Almighty

and argue my case

before

God.

You,

however,

smear

with lies;

you are all

worthless

physicians.

If only

you would be silent;

for that would be

your

wisdom!

Hear

now

my argument,

and listen

to the plea

of my lips.

Will you speak

wickedly

on God’s behalf

or speak

deceitfully for Him?

Would you show Him partiality

or

argue

in His defense?

Would it be well

when

He examined you?

Could you deceive

Him

like

a man?

Surely He would rebuke

you

if

you secretly

showed partiality.

Would His majesty

not

terrify you?

Would the dread of Him

not fall

upon you?

Your maxims

are proverbs

of ashes;

your defenses

are defenses

of clay.

Be silent,

and I

will speak.

Then let come

to me

what may.

Why

do I put myself

at risk

and take

my life

in my own hands?

Though

He slay me,

I will hope in Him.

I will still

defend

my ways

to

His face.

Moreover,

this will be my salvation,

for

no

godless man

can appear

before Him.

Listen

carefully

to my words;

let my declaration

ring in your ears.

Behold,

now that

I have prepared

my case,

I know

that

I

will be vindicated.

Can anyone

indict

me?

If

so,

I will be silent

and die.

Only

grant

these two

things to me,

so that

I need not

hide

from You:

Withdraw

Your hand

from me,

and do not

let Your terror

frighten me.

Then call me,

and I

will answer,

or

let me speak,

and You can reply.

How many

are my

iniquities

and sins?

Reveal to me

my transgression

and sin.

Why

do You hide

Your face

and consider me

as Your

enemy?

Will You frighten

a windblown

leaf?

Will You chase after

dry

chaff?

For

You record

bitter accusations

against me

and bequeath to me

the iniquities

of my youth.

You put

my feet

in the stocks

and stand watch

over all

my paths;

You set a limit

for

the soles

of my feet.

So man

wastes away

like something rotten,

like a moth-eaten

garment.

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