JOB.
Chapter 27.
Job continued his poems and said, 
“I swear an oath by God, the one who has taken away my rights, by the Almighty, who has made my life bitter: 
‘As long as there is one breath ⌞left⌟ in me and God’s breath fills my nostrils, 
my lips will not say anything wrong, and my tongue will not mumble anything deceitful.’ 
It’s unthinkable for me to admit that you are right. Until I breathe my last breath, I will never give up my claim of integrity. 
I cling to my righteousness and won’t let go. My conscience won’t accuse me as long as I live. 
“Let my enemy be ⌞treated⌟ like wicked people. Let anyone who attacks me be ⌞treated⌟ like unrighteous people. 
After all, what hope does the godless person have when he is cut off, when God takes away his life? 
Will God hear his cry when trouble comes upon him? 
Can he be happy with the Almighty? Can he call on God at all times? 
“I will teach you about God’s power. I will not hide what the Almighty has done. 
Certainly, you have all seen it. Why then do you chatter on about such nonsense? 
This is what God has waiting for the wicked person, the inheritance that tyrants receive from the Almighty: 
If he has many children, swords will kill them, and his descendants won’t have enough food. 
Those who survive him will be buried by a plague, and their widows won’t cry ⌞for them⌟. 
Though he collects silver like dust and piles up clothing like dirt, 
righteous people will wear what he piles up, and the innocent will divide the silver ⌞among themselves⌟. 
He builds his house like a moth, like a shack that a watchman makes. 
He may go to bed rich, but he’ll never be rich again. When he opens his eyes, nothing will be left. 
Terrors overtake him like a flood. A windstorm snatches him away at night. 
The east wind carries him away, and he’s gone. It sweeps him from his place. 
It hurls itself at him without mercy. He flees from its power. 
It claps its hands over him. It whistles at him from his own place. 
