Job 30

“But now those who are younger than I have me in derision,

Of what use is the strength of their hands to me,

They are gaunt from lack and famine.

They pluck salt herbs by the bushes.

They are driven out from among men.

So that they dwell in frightful valleys,

Among the bushes they bray;

They are children of fools, yes, children of wicked men.

“Now I have become their song.

They abhor me, they stand aloof from me,

For he has untied his cord, and afflicted me;

On my right hand rise the rabble.

They mar my path,

As through a wide breach they come,

Terrors have turned on me.

“Now my soul is poured out within me.

In the night season my bones are pierced in me,

By great force is my garment disfigured.

He has cast me into the mire.

I cry to you, and you do not answer me.

You have turned to be cruel to me.

You lift me up to the wind, and drive me with it.

For I know that you will bring me to death,

“However doesn’t one stretch out a hand in his fall?

Didn’t I weep for him who was in trouble?

When I looked for good, then evil came;

My heart is troubled, and doesn’t rest.

I go mourning without the sun.

I am a brother to jackals,

My skin grows black and peels from me.

Therefore my harp has turned to mourning,