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Job 17
Job
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Chapter 17
1
My breath grows weak, and the gravediggers are gathering for me.
2
I am the butt of mockers, and all my waking hours I brood on their spitefulness.
3
You yourself must take my own guarantee, since no one cares to clap his hand on mine.[*a]
4
For you have shut their hearts to reason, and not a hand is lifted.
5
Like a man who invites his friends to share his property while the eyes of his own sons languish,
6
I have become a byword among the people, and a creature on whose face to spit.
7
My eyes grow dim with grief, and my limbs wear away like a shadow.
8
At this, honest men are shocked,[*b] and the guiltless man rails against the godless;
9
just men grow more settled in their ways, those whose hands are clean add strength to strength.
10
Come, then, all of you: set on me once more! I shall not find a single sage among you.
11
My days have passed, far otherwise than I had planned, and every fibre of my heart is broken.
12
Night, they say, makes room for day, and light is near at hand to chase the darkness.
13
All I look forward to is dwelling in Sheol, and making my bed in the dark.
14
I tell the tomb, ‘You are my father’, and call the worm my mother and my sister.
15
Where then is my hope? Who can see any happiness for me?
16
Will these come down with me to Sheol, or sink with me into the dust?
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