Job 30 EMB - But, now, they who are of fewer days than I, have poured



1 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 engulfing 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.