Job 30

¹ And now I am the laughing-stock of my juniors, the young people, whose fathers I did not consider fit to put with the dogs that looked after my flock.

² The strength of their hands would have been useless to me, enfeebled as they were, worn out by want and hunger.

³ They used to gnaw the roots, of desert plants, and brambles from abandoned ruins;

⁴ and plucked mallow, and brushwood leaves, making their meals off roots of broom.

⁵ Outlawed from the society of men, who, as against thieves, raised hue and cry against them,

⁶ they made their dwellings on ravines’ steep sides, in caves or clefts in the rock.

⁷ You could hear them wailing from the bushes, as they huddled together in the thistles.

⁸ Their children are as worthless a brood as they were, nameless people, outcasts of society.

⁹ And these are the ones that now sing ballads about me, and make me the talk of the town!

¹⁰ To them I am loathsome, they stand aloof from me, do not scruple to spit in my face.

¹¹ Because he has unbent my bow and chastened me they cast the bridle from their mouth.

¹² That brood of theirs rises to right of me, stones are their weapons, and they take threatening strides towards me.

¹³ They have cut me off from all escape, there is no one to check their attack.

¹⁴ They move in, as though through a wide breach, and I am crushed beneath the rubble.

¹⁵ Terrors turn to meet me, my confidence is blown away as if by the wind; my hope of safety passes like a cloud.

¹⁶ And now the life in me trickles away, days of grief have gripped me.

¹⁷ At night-time, sickness saps my bones, I am gnawed by wounds that never sleep.

¹⁸ With immense power it has caught me by the clothes, clutching at the collar of my coat.

¹⁹ It has thrown me into the mud where I am no better than dust and ashes.

²⁰ I cry to you, and you give me no answer; I stand before you, but you take no notice.

²¹ You have grown cruel in your dealings with me, your hand lies on me, heavy and hostile.

²² You carry me up to ride the wind, tossing me about in a tempest.

²³ I know it is to death that you are taking me, the common meeting place of all that lives.

²⁴ Yet have I ever laid a hand on the poor when they cried out for justice in calamity?

²⁵ Have I not wept for all whose life is hard, felt pity for the penniless?

²⁶ I hoped for happiness, but sorrow came; I looked for light, but there was darkness.

²⁷ My stomach seethes, is never still, for every day brings further suffering.

²⁸ Sombre I go, yet no one comforts me, and if I rise in the council, I rise to weep.

²⁹ I have become the jackal’s brother and the ostrich’s companion

³⁰ My skin has turned black on me, my bones are burnt with fever.

³¹ My harp is tuned to funeral wails, my flute to the voice of mourners.