Job 30

Job Mocked by the Young and Despised

1 “But now, those younger than me laugh at me, men whose fathers I would not have even put with the dogs guarding my sheep.

2 What good was the strength of their hands to me, Their vigor had already perished.

3 They were worn out from poverty and hunger, gnawing in the dry wastelands in gloom and desolation.

4 They plucked salt herbs by the bushes and ate roots of broom trees for food.

5 They were driven out from among men, who shouted after them as if they were thieves.

6 They had to live in the cliffs of valleys, in caves and holes in the ground.

7 They brayed among the bushes and huddled under the nettles.

8 A senseless, nameless brood, they were driven out of the land.

9 And now I have become their joke; they make songs mocking me.

10 They despise me, keep their distance, and do not hesitate to spit in my face.

Job Afflicted by God

11 Because God loosened my bowstring and humbled me, they throw off all restraint in my presence.

12 The rabble rise up on my right; they push away my feet and build up siege ramps against me.

13 They break up my path, advance my destruction, and no one stops them.

14 They come in like a wide breach, rushing in through the ruins.

15 Terrors turn against me; my dignity is blown away like the wind, my prosperity vanishes like a cloud.

Job’s Deep Pain

16 Now my soul pours itself out within me; days of suffering grip me.

17 At night my bones ache, the pain gnaws on me and never stops.

18 By great force my garment is disfigured; it binds me about like the collar of my tunic.

19 God has thrown me into the mud, and I have become like dust and ashes.

20 I cry out to You, God, but You do not answer; I stand up, but You just look at me.

21 You have turned cruel to me; with the strength of Your hand You attack me.

22 You lift me up to the wind and make me ride it; You toss me around in the storm.

23 I know You will bring me down to death, to the house appointed for all living.

Hopelessness and Loneliness

24 But does not a man in ruin stretch out his hand, In disaster, does he not cry for help,

25 Did I not weep for those whose days were hard, Was not my soul grieved for the poor,

26 But when I looked for good, evil came; when I waited for light, darkness showed up.

27 My insides are in turmoil and never quiet; days of suffering confront me.

28 I walk around blackened, but not by the sun; I stand in the assembly crying for help.

29 I have become a brother of jackals, a companion of owls.

30 My skin turns black and peels off, my body burns with fever.

31 My harp is tuned to mourning, and my flute to the sound of those who weep.”