Job 30

1But now they laugh at me, men younger than I am, whose fathers I would have refused to put with my sheepdogs. 2What use to me was the strength of their hands, men whose vigor was gone? 3Gaunt with want and hunger, they gnawed the dry ground, in the gloom of waste and desolation. 4They pick salt plants among the bushes, and the roots of the broom tree are their food. 5They are driven out from human company; people shout after them as after a thief. 6They have to live on the slopes of the dry ravines, in holes in the ground and among the rocks. 7They bray among the bushes and huddle together under the nettles. 8A senseless and nameless brood, they were driven out of the land with whips. 9And now I have become their mocking song; I have become a byword among them. 10They detest me and keep their distance from me; they do not hesitate to spit in my face. 11Because God has loosened my bowstring and humbled me, they have thrown off all restraint in my presence. 12On my right the rabble rises up; they trip up my feet and build their siege ramps of ruin against me. 13They break up my path; they help my destruction along, and no one holds them back. 14They come in as through a wide breach in the wall; amid the crash of ruins they roll on. 15Terrors are turned against me; my honor is driven away as by the wind, and my safety has vanished like a cloud. 16And now my life is poured out within me; days of suffering have taken hold of me. 17At night my bones are pierced within me, and the pains that gnaw at me never rest. 18With great force my clothing is twisted out of shape; it binds me like the collar of my tunic. 19He has thrown me into the mud, and I have become like dust and ashes. 20I cry to you for help, but you do not answer me; I stand up, and you merely look at me. 21You have turned cruel toward me; with the strength of your hand you attack me. 22You lift me up on the wind and make me ride it; you toss me about in the roar of the storm. 23For I know that you will bring me to death, to the house appointed for all the living. 24Yet does not someone in ruins stretch out a hand, and cry for help in his disaster? 25Did I not weep for those in trouble? Did I not grieve for the needy? 26Yet when I hoped for good, evil came; when I waited for light, darkness came. 27My insides churn and are never still; days of suffering confront me. 28I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. 29I have become a brother to jackals and a companion to ostriches. 30My skin turns black and peels from me, and my bones burn with fever. 31My lyre is tuned to mourning, and my flute to the sound of weeping.