Job 30:1-31
30 But now they who are of fewer days than I have poured derision upon me; Whose fathers I refused—To set with the dogs of my flock.
2 Even the strength of their hands wherefore was it mine? Upon them vigour was lost;
3 In want and hunger they were lean,—Who used to gnaw the dry ground, A dark night of desolation!
4 Who used to pluck off the mallow by the bushes, With the root of the broom for their food;
5 Out of the midst were they driven, Men shouted after them as after a thief;
6 In the fissures of the ravines had they to dwell, In holes of dust and crags;
7 Among the bushes used they to shriek, Under the bramble were they huddled together:
8 Sons of the base, yea sons of the nameless They were scourged out of the land.
9 But now their song have I become, Yea I serve them for a byword;
10 They abhor me—have put themselves far from me, And from my face have not withheld—spittle!
11 Because my girdle he had loosened and had humbled me Therefore the bridle—in my presence cast they off;
12 On my right hand the young brood rose up,—My feet they thrust aside, And cast up against me their earthworks of destruction;
13 They brake up my path,—My engulphing ruin they helped forward unaided;
14 As through a wide breach came they on, With a crashing noise they rolled themselves along.
15 There are turned upon me terrors,—Chased away as with a wind is mine abundance, And as a cloud hath passed away my prosperity.
16 Now therefore over myself my soul poureth itself out, There seize me days of affliction:
17 Night boreth my bones all over me,—And my sinews find no rest;
18 Most effectually is my skin disfigured,—Like the collar of my tunic it girdeth me about:
19 He hath cast me into the mire, And I have become like dust and ashes.
20 I cry out for help unto thee and thou dost not answer, I stand still and thou dost gaze at me;
21 Thou art turned to become a cruel one unto me, With the might of thy hand thou assailest me;
22 Thou liftest up me to the wind, thou carriest me away, And the storm maketh me faint;
23 For I know that unto death thou wilt bring me back, Even unto the house of meeting for every one living.
24 Only against a heap of ruins will one not thrust a hand! Surely when one is in calamity—for that very reason is there an outcry for help.
25 Verily I wept for him whose lot was hard, Grieved was my soul for the needy.
26 Surely for good I looked but there came in evil, And I waited for light but there came in darkness;
27 I boiled within me and rested not, There confronted me—days of affliction;
28 In gloom I walked along without sun, I arose—in the convocation I cried out for help;
29 A brother became I to the brutes that howl, And a companion to the birds that screech:
30 My skin turned black and peeled off me, And my bones burned with heat:
31 Thus is attuned to mourning—my lyre, And my flute to the noise of them who weep.
