Job 30

1But now they laugh at me, men younger than I am, whose fathers I would have refused to put with the dogs of my flock.

2What use to me was the strength of their hands, since their vigor had perished?

3Gaunt from want and hunger, they gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of wasteland and ruin.

4They pluck saltwort among the bushes, and the root of the broom tree is their food.

5They are driven out from human company; people shout after them as after a thief.

6They have to live in the gullies of the ravines, in holes in the ground and among the rocks.

7Among the bushes they bray; under the nettles they huddle together.

8A senseless people, a nameless people, they were whipped out of the land.

9Now I have become their taunt song; I have become a byword to them.

10They detest me and keep their distance from me; they do not hesitate to spit in my face.

11Because God has loosened my cord and humbled me, they have thrown off all restraint in my presence.

12On my right the rabble rises up; they push my feet aside and build their ramps of ruin against me.

13They break up my path; they profit from my destruction, with no one to help them.

14They come as through a wide breach; amid the crash they roll in.

15Terrors are turned against me; my dignity is chased away as by the wind, and my safety has passed away like a cloud.

16Now my soul is poured out within me; days of suffering have seized me.

17By night my bones are pierced within me, and my gnawing pains never rest.

18With great force my garment is twisted out of shape; it binds me like the collar of my tunic.

19He has thrown me into the mud, and I have become like dust and ashes.

20I cry to you for help, but you do not answer me; I stand up, and you only look at me.

21You have turned cruel toward me; with the strength of your hand you attack me.

22You lift me up on the wind and make me ride it; you make me melt away, and all my strength with me.

23For I know that you will bring me to death, to the house appointed for all the living.

24Yet does not someone in ruins stretch out a hand? In his disaster does he not cry for help?

25Did I not weep for the one whose life was hard? Was my soul not grieved for the needy?

26Yet when I hoped for good, evil came; when I waited for light, darkness came.

27My insides churn and will not rest; days of suffering confront me.

28I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help.

29I have become a brother of jackals and a companion of ostriches.

30My skin turns black and peels off me; my bones burn with fever.

31My lyre has turned to mourning, and my flute to the sound of those who weep.