“He has no offspring or posterity among his people,
Nor any survivor where he sojourned.

“Those in the west are appalled at his fate,
And those in the east are seized with horror.

“Surely such are the dwellings of the wicked,
And this is the place of him who does not know God.”

“His skin is devoured by disease,
The firstborn of death devours his limbs.

Then Bildad the Shuhite responded,

“How long will you hunt for words?
Show understanding and then we can talk.

“Indeed, the light of the wicked goes out,
And the flame of his fire gives no light.

“He is torn from the security of his tent,
And they march him before the king of terrors.

“O you who tear yourself in your anger—
For your sake is the earth to be abandoned,
Or the rock to be moved from its place?

“All around terrors frighten him,
And harry him at every step.

“He is driven from light into darkness,
And chased from the inhabited world.

“His vigorous stride is shortened,
And his own scheme brings him down.

“There dwells in his tent nothing of his;
Brimstone is scattered on his habitation.

“The light in his tent is darkened,
And his lamp goes out above him.

“For he is thrown into the net by his own feet,
And he steps on the webbing.

“A snare seizes him by the heel,
And a trap snaps shut on him.

“Why are we regarded as beasts,
As stupid in your eyes?

“His roots are dried below,
And his branch is cut off above.

“A noose for him is hidden in the ground,
And a trap for him on the path.

“Memory of him perishes from the earth,
And he has no name abroad.

“His strength is famished,
And calamity is ready at his side.