He has no children or descendants among his people,
no survivor where he used to live.

Those in the west are appalled at his fate,
while those in the east tremble in horror.

Indeed, such is the dwelling of the unjust man,
and this is the place of the one who does not know God.

Parts of his skin are eaten away;
death’s firstborn consumes his limbs.

Then Bildad the Shuhite replied:

How long until you stop talking?
Show some sense, and then we can talk.

Yes, the light of the wicked is extinguished;
the flame of his fire does not glow.

He is ripped from the security of his tent
and marched away to the king of terrors.

You who tear yourself in anger—
should the earth be abandoned on your account,
or a rock be removed from its place?

Terrors frighten him on every side
and harass him at every step.

He is driven from light to darkness
and chased from the inhabited world.

His powerful stride is shortened,
and his own schemes trip him up.

Nothing he owned remains in his tent.
Burning sulfur is scattered over his home.

The light in his tent grows dark,
and the lamp beside him is put out.

For his own feet lead him into a net,
and he strays into its mesh.

A trap catches him by the heel;
a noose seizes him.

Why are we regarded as cattle,
as stupid in your sight?

His roots below dry up,
and his branches above wither away.

A rope lies hidden for him on the ground,
and a snare waits for him along the path.

All memory of him perishes from the earth;
he has no name anywhere.

His strength is depleted;
disaster lies ready for him to stumble.