Job Bemoans His Condition
101 My soul hath been weary of my life, I leave off my talking to myself, I speak in the bitterness of my soul. 2 I say unto God, 'Do not condemn me, Let me know why Thou dost strive 'with' me. 3 Is it good for Thee that Thou dost oppress? That Thou despisest the labour of Thy hands, And on the counsel of the wicked hast shone? 4 Eyes of flesh hast Thou? As man seeth—seest Thou? 5 As the days of man 'are' Thy days? Thy years as the days of a man? 6 That Thou inquirest for mine iniquity, And for my sin seekest? 7 For Thou knowest that I am not wicked, And there is no deliverer from Thy hand.
8 Thy hands have taken pains about me, And they make me together round about, And Thou swallowest me up! 9 Remember, I pray Thee, That as clay Thou hast made me, And unto dust Thou dost bring me back. 10 Dost Thou not as milk pour me out? And as cheese curdle me? 11 Skin and flesh Thou dost put on me, And with bones and sinews dost fence me. 12 Life and kindness Thou hast done with me. And Thy inspection hath preserved my spirit. 13 And these Thou hast laid up in Thy heart, I have known that this 'is' with Thee.
14 If I sinned, then Thou hast observed me, And from mine iniquity dost not acquit me, 15 If I have done wickedly—wo to me, And righteously—I lift not up my head, Full of shame—then see my affliction, 16 And it riseth—as a lion Thou huntest me. And Thou turnest back—Thou shewest Thyself wonderful in me. 17 Thou renewest Thy witnesses against me, And dost multiply Thine anger with me, Changes and warfare 'are' with me. 18 And why from the womb Hast Thou brought me forth? I expire, and the eye doth not see me. 19 As I had not been, I am, From the belly to the grave I am brought, 20 Are not my days few? Cease then, and put from me, And I brighten up a little, 21 Before I go, and return not, Unto a land of darkness and death-shade, 22 A land of obscurity as thick darkness, Death-shade—and no order, And the shining 'is' as thick darkness.'