Job’s Honor Turned to Contempt

1“ And now they laugh at me,

the fewer in days than I,

whose fathers I disdained

to put with the dogs of my flock.

2Indeed, the strength of their hands,

what is it to me?

Upon them vigor has perished,

3in poverty and in harsh hunger,

ones gnawing the dry ground by night,

in ruin and desolation.

4They are plucking mallow among the brush,

and the root of the broom tree is their bread.†

5From the midst of people they are driven out;

they shout at them as at a thief.

6On the slope of wadis they are to dwell,

in holes of the dust and rocks.

7Among the shrubs they bray;

under the nettles they huddle together.

8Sons of a fool, even sons without a name,

they were scourged from the land.

9And now I have become their song,

and I have become a byword among them.

10They abhor me and keep far from me;

and from my face they do not withhold spit.

11For my bowstring he has loosed and afflicted me,

and they have cast off the bridle before me.

12On the right a brood arises;

they push away my feet,

and they build up against me the ways of destruction.

13They break up my path;

they advance my calamity,

with no one helping them.†

14As a wide breach they come;

amid the ruin they roll on.

Job’s Prosperity Becomes Calamity

15Terrors are turned over upon me;

like the wind it pursues my honor,

and like a cloud my deliverance has passed away.

16And now within me my soul is poured out;

days of affliction seize me.

17Night pierces my bones from upon me,

and my gnawing pains will not lie down.

18With abundance of strength He grasps my garment;†

by the collar of my tunic He seizes me.

19He has cast me into the mire,

and I have become like dust and ashes.

20I cry out to You, but You do not answer me;

I stand up, and You gaze at me.

21You have turned to be cruel toward me;

with the strength of Your hand You oppose me.

22You lift me up to the wind

and make me ride it,

You toss me about† in the storm.

23For I know that You will bring me to death,

and to the house of appointment to all the living.

24Surely one does not stretch out a hand against the oppressed,

when in his ruin he cries out to him.

25If not did I weep for the harshness of day,

while my soul grieved for the needy one?

26And, I hoped for good, and evil came;

and I waited for light, and darkness came.

27My bowels have boiled and they do not rest;

days of affliction confront me.

28I go about darkened, not by the sun;

I rise up in the assembly and cry out.

29I have become a brother to jackals,†

and a companion to the daughters of the ostrich.†

30My skin turns black and falls from me,

and my bone burns with heat.

31And my harp is changed to mourning,

and my flute to the voice of weeping.