Job 30
1 “But now those younger than I laugh at me, whose fathers I would not have accepted even to put with the dogs of my flock.
2 What good would the strength of their hands be to me? Their vigor is gone.
3 Worn down by want and hunger, they wander alone, gnawing at the dry ground, on the eve of desolation and ruin.
4 They gather salt herbs near the bushes, and the roots of the broom tree are their food.
5 They are driven out from among the people; people shout after them as they would after a thief.
6 They live on the slopes of ravines, in holes in the ground and among the rocks.
7 They bray among the bushes and huddle beneath the nettles.
8 They are children of fools, children without a name; they were whipped out of the land.
9 And now I am their song; I have become a byword to them.
10 They detest me and keep their distance; they do not spare my face from their spit.”
11 “Because he has loosened my cord and humbled me, they have let the bridle drop before me.
12 On my right the rabble rise up; they trip my feet and lay out their paths of destruction against me.
13 They tear up my path and hasten my ruin, with no one to help them.
14 They come as through a wide breach; they roll in amid the wreckage.
15 Terrors turn against me; my dignity is swept away like wind, and my deliverance has passed like a cloud.
16 And now my life is poured out within me; days of affliction seize me.
17 At night my bones are pierced and wrenched from me, and the pains that gnaw at me never rest.
18 With great force my clothing is disfigured; it tightens around me like the collar of my tunic.
19 He has thrown me into the mud, and I have become like dust and ashes.
20 I cry out to you for help, but you do not answer; I stand, and you only look at me.
21 You have become cruel to me; with the strength of your hand you persecute me.”
22 “You lift me up on the wind and make me ride it, and you dissolve my good sense within me.
23 For I know you will bring me to death, to the house appointed for every living thing.
24 But no one stretches out a hand against a heap of ruins when, in its distress, it cries out for help.
25 Did I not weep for those who faced hard days? Did my soul not grieve for the needy?
26 For I hoped for good, but evil came; I waited for light, but darkness came.
27 My insides boil and find no rest; days of affliction have come to meet me.
28 I go about in darkness, though not from the sun; I rise in the assembly and cry out for help.
29 I have become a brother to jackals and a companion to ostriches.
30 My skin has grown black and peels from me, and my bones burn with fever.
31 My harp has become a dirge, and my flute the sound of those who weep.”
Read and listen to this chapter in the Shalem app, free: narration, chapter video and reading progress. Get the app