Then Job arose and tore his robe and shaved his head, and he fell to the ground and worshiped.

Then they sat down on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights with no one speaking a word to him, for they saw that his pain was very great.

“For affliction does not come from the dust,
Nor does trouble sprout from the ground,

“Oh that my request might come to pass,
And that God would grant my longing!

“Though its roots grow old in the ground
And its stump dies in the dry soil,

“He will not become rich, nor will his wealth endure;
And his grain will not bend down to the ground.

“His arrows surround me.
Without mercy He splits my kidneys open;
He pours out my gall on the ground.

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

“From want and famine they are gaunt
Who gnaw the dry ground by night in waste and desolation,

May my wife grind for another,
And let others kneel down over her.

“With shaking and rage he races over the ground,
And he does not stand still at the voice of the trumpet.