Then Satan answered Yahweh, and said, "Does Job fear God for nothing?

Who long for death, but it doesn't come; and dig for it more than for hidden treasures,

For affliction doesn't come forth from the dust, neither does trouble spring out of the ground;

who does great things that can't be fathomed, marvelous things without number;

Does the wild donkey bray when he has grass? Or does the ox low over his fodder?

Be it still my consolation, yes, let me exult in pain that doesn't spare, that I have not denied the words of the Holy One.

How forcible are words of uprightness! But your reproof, what does it reprove?

Does God pervert justice? Or does the Almighty pervert righteousness?

He commands the sun, and it doesn't rise, and seals up the stars.

He does great things past finding out; yes, marvelous things without number.

For he knows false men. He sees iniquity also, even though he doesn't consider it.

But I have understanding as well as you; I am not inferior to you. Yes, who doesn't know such things as these?

Who doesn't know that in all these, the hand of Yahweh has done this,

Doesn't the ear try words, even as the palate tastes its food?

He comes forth like a flower, and is cut down. He also flees like a shadow, and doesn't continue.

so man lies down and doesn't rise. Until the heavens are no more, they shall not awake, nor be roused out of their sleep.

His sons come to honor, and he doesn't know it. They are brought low, but he doesn't perceive it of them.

Why does your heart carry you away? Why do your eyes flash,

He doesn't believe that he shall return out of darkness. He is waited for by the sword.

His archers surround me. He splits my kidneys apart, and does not spare. He pours out my gall on the ground.

Surely such are the dwellings of the unrighteous. This is the place of him who doesn't know God."

For what does he care for his house after him, when the number of his months is cut off?

Is it any pleasure to the Almighty, that you are righteous? Or does it benefit him, that you make your ways perfect?

You say, 'What does God know? Can he judge through the thick darkness?

Thick clouds are a covering to him, so that he doesn't see. He walks on the vault of the sky.'

But he stands alone, and who can oppose him? What his soul desires, even that he does.

From out of the populous city, men groan. The soul of the wounded cries out, yet God doesn't regard the folly.

Drought and heat consume the snow waters, so does Sheol those who have sinned.

Can his armies be counted? On whom does his light not arise?

For it hurls at him, and does not spare, as he flees away from his hand.

Man doesn't know its price; Neither is it found in the land of the living.

Where then does wisdom come from? Where is the place of understanding?

"However doesn't one stretch out a hand in his fall? Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?

My heart is troubled, and doesn't rest. Days of affliction have come on me.

Doesn't he see my ways, and number all my steps?

Why do you strive against him, because he doesn't give account of any of his matters?

Who doesn't respect the persons of princes, nor respects the rich more than the poor; for they all are the work of his hands.

For he doesn't need to consider a man further, that he should go before God in judgment.

If you are righteous, what do you give him? Or what does he receive from your hand?

But now, because he has not visited in his anger, neither does he greatly regard arrogance.

"Behold, God is mighty, and doesn't despise anyone. He is mighty in strength of understanding.

He doesn't preserve the life of the wicked, but gives to the afflicted their right.

He doesn't withdraw his eyes from the righteous, but with kings on the throne, he sets them forever, and they are exalted.

After it a voice roars. He thunders with the voice of his majesty. He doesn't hold back anything when his voice is heard.

God thunders marvelously with his voice. He does great things, which we can't comprehend.

Therefore men revere him. He doesn't regard any who are wise of heart."

Does the rain have a father? Or who fathers the drops of dew?

He scorns the tumult of the city, neither does he hear the shouting of the driver.

He mocks at fear, and is not dismayed, neither does he turn back from the sword.

He eats up the ground with fierceness and rage, neither does he stand still at the sound of the trumpet.

Behold, if a river overflows, he doesn't tremble. He is confident, though the Jordan swells even to his mouth.