Job 30 | Strong's Bible

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Chapter 1 Chapter 2

CHAPTER 30

But now

they mock me,

men younger

than I am,

whose

fathers

I would have refused

to put

with

my sheep

dogs.

Indeed,

what use

to me

was the strength

of their hands,

since their vigor

had left them?

Gaunt

from poverty

and hunger,

they gnawed

the dry land,

and the desolate

wasteland

by night.

They plucked

mallow

among

the shrubs,

and the roots

of the broom tree

were their food.

They were banished

from

among men,

shouted

down

like thieves,

so that they lived

on the slopes

of the wadis,

among the rocks

and in holes

in the ground.

They cried out

among

the shrubs

and huddled

beneath

the nettles.

A senseless

and

nameless

brood,

they were driven

off

the land.

And now

they mock me in song;

I have become

a byword

among them.

They abhor me

and keep far

from me;

they do not

hesitate

to spit

in my face.

Because

God has unstrung

my bow

and afflicted me,

they have cast off

restraint

in my presence.

The rabble

arises

at

my right;

they lay snares

for my feet

and build

siege ramps

against me.

They tear up

my path;

they profit

from my destruction,

with no one

to restrain them.

They advance

as through a gaping

breach;

through

the ruins

they keep rolling in.

Terrors

are turned loose

against me;

they drive away

my dignity

as by the wind,

and my prosperity

has passed

like a cloud.

And now

my soul

is poured out

within me;

days

of suffering

grip me.

Night

pierces

my bones,

and my gnawing pains

never

rest.

By great

power

He becomes like

my garment;

He seizes me

by the collar

of my tunic.

He throws

me into the mud,

and I have become

like dust

and ashes.

I cry out to You

for help,

but You do not

answer;

when I stand up,

You merely look at me.

You have ruthlessly turned

on me;

You oppose me

with Your strong

hand.

You snatch me up

into

the wind

and drive me before it;

You toss me about

in the storm.

Yes,

I know that

You will bring me down

to death,

to the place

appointed

for all

the living.

Yet

no one

stretches out

his hand

to a ruined man

when

he cries for help

in his distress.

Have I not

wept

for those in trouble?

Has my soul

not grieved

for the needy?

But when

I hoped for

good,

evil

came;

when I looked

for light,

darkness

came.

I am churning

within

and cannot

rest;

days

of affliction

confront me.

I go about

blackened,

but not

by the sun.

I stand up

in the assembly

and cry for help.

I have become

a brother

to jackals,

and a companion

of ostriches.

My skin

grows black

and peels,

and my bones

burn

with fever.

My harp

is tuned

to mourning

and my flute

to the sound

of weeping.

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