King James Version › Job › 30

Job

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1 But now they that are younger than I have me in de­ri­sion, whose fa­thers I would have dis­dained to have set with the dogs of my flock. 2 Yea, where­to might the strength of their hands profit me, in whom old age was per­ished? 3 For want and famine they were soli­tary; flee­ing into the wilder­ness in for­mer time des­o­late and waste. 4 Who cut up mal­lows by the bush­es, and ju­niper roots for their meat. 5 They were driv­en forth from among men, (they cried af­ter them as after a thief;) 6 To dwell in the clifts of the val­leys, in caves of the earth, and in the rocks. 7 Among the bush­es they brayed; un­der the net­tles they were gath­ered to­geth­er. 8 They were chil­dren of fools, yea, chil­dren of base men: they were vil­er than the earth. 9 And now am I their song, yea, I am their by­word. 10 They ab­hor me, they flee far from me, and spare not to spit in my face. 11 Be­cause he hath loosed my cord, and af­flict­ed me, they have also let loose the bri­dle be­fore me. 12 Upon my right hand rise the youth; they push away my feet, and they raise up against me the ways of their de­struc­tion. 13 They mar my path, they set for­ward my calami­ty, they have no helper. 14 They came upon me as a wide break­ing in of waters: in the des­o­la­tion they rolled them­selves upon me. 15 Ter­rors are turned upon me: they pur­sue my soul as the wind: and my wel­fare pas­seth away as a cloud. 16 And now my soul is poured out upon me; the days of af­flic­tion have tak­en hold upon me. 17 My bones are pierced in me in the night sea­son: and my sinews take no rest. 18 By the great force of my disease is my gar­ment changed: it bindeth me about as the col­lar of my coat. 19 He hath cast me into the mire, and I am be­come like dust and ash­es. 20 I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me: I stand up, and thou re­gardest me not. 21 Thou art be­come cru­el to me: with thy strong hand thou op­pos­est thy­self against me. 22 Thou liftest me up to the wind; thou caus­est me to ride upon it, and dis­solvest my sub­stance. 23 For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house ap­point­ed for all liv­ing. 24 How­beit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave, though they cry in his de­struc­tion. 25 Did not I weep for him that was in trou­ble? was not my soul grieved for the poor? 26 When I looked for good, then evil came un­to me: and when I wait­ed for light, there came dark­ness. 27 My bow­els boiled, and rest­ed not: the days of af­flic­tion pre­vent­ed me. 28 I went mourn­ing with­out the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the con­gre­ga­tion. 29 I am a broth­er to drag­ons, and a com­pan­ion to owls. 30 My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat. 31 My harp also is turned to mourn­ing, and my or­gan into the voice of them that weep.