Then Job stood up, tore his robe, shaved his head, fell to the ground, bowed very low,

Observing him from a distance, at first they didn't even recognize him, so they raised their voices and burst into tears. They each ripped their robes, threw ashes into the air on their heads,

His anger tears me in his persistent resentment against me; he gnashes his teeth at me. My adversary glares at me.

"He tore me apart when I was at ease; grabbing me by my neck, he shook me to pieces then he really made me his target.

My face is red from my tears, and dark shadows encircle my eyelids,

My friends mock me, while my eyes overflow with tears to God,

You're tearing yourself to pieces in your anger. Will the land be abandoned because of you, or the rock be moved from its place?"

Torn from the security of his home, he is brought before the king of terrors.

When he tears down, nobody rebuilds; when he incarcerates, nobody escapes.

They tear up my pathways; they profit from my destruction, and they need no help to do this!