Job 30
Job’s Present State Is Humiliating
Whose fathers I disdained to put with the dogs of my flock.
Vigor had perished from them.
Who gnaw the dry ground by night in waste and desolation,
And whose food is the root of the broom shrub.
They shout against them as against a thief,
In holes of the earth and of the rocks.
Under the nettles they are gathered together.
They were scourged from the land.
I have even become a byword to them.
And they do not refrain from spitting at my face.
They have cast off the bridle before me.
They thrust aside my feet and build up against me their ways of destruction.
They profit from my destruction;
No one restrains them.
Amid the tempest they roll on.
They pursue my honor as the wind,
And my prosperity has passed away like a cloud.
Days of affliction have seized me.
And my gnawing pains take no rest.
It binds me about as the collar of my coat.
And I have become like dust and ashes.
I stand up, and You turn Your attention against me.
With the might of Your hand You persecute me.
And You dissolve me in a storm.
And to the house of meeting for all living.
Or in his disaster therefore cry out for help?
Was not my soul grieved for the needy?
When I waited for light, then darkness came.
Days of affliction confront me.
I stand up in the assembly and cry out for help.
And a companion of ostriches.
And my bones burn with fever.
And my flute to the sound of those who weep.