Job.
Chapter 30.
“And now, laughed at me, || Have the younger in days than I, || Whose fathers I have loathed to set || With the dogs of my flock. 
Also—the power of their hands, why is it to me? On them old age has perished. 
With want and with harsh famine, || They are gnawing a dry place in the recent night, || In desolation and ruin, 
Those cropping mallows near a shrub, || And their food is root of broom trees. 
They are cast out from the midst || (They shout against them as a thief), 
To dwell in a frightful place of valleys, || Holes of earth and clefts. 
They groan among shrubs, || They are gathered together under nettles. 
Sons of folly—even sons without name, || They have been struck from the land. 
And now, I have been their song, || And I am to them for a byword. 
They have detested me, || They have kept far from me, || And from before me have not spared to spit. 
Because He loosed His cord and afflicts me, || And the bridle from before me, || They have cast away. 
A brood arises on the right hand, || They have cast away my feet, || And they raise up against me, || Their paths of calamity. 
They have broken down my path, || They profit by my calamity: He has no helper. 
They come as a wide breach, || Under the desolation have rolled themselves. 
He has turned terrors against me, || It pursues my abundance as the wind, || And as a thick cloud, || My safety has passed away. 
And now, in me my soul pours itself out, || Days of affliction seize me. 
At night my bone has been pierced in me, || And my gnawing pain does not lie down. 
By the abundance of power, || Is my clothing changed, || As the mouth of my coat it girds me. 
Casting me into mire, || And I have become like dust and ashes. 
I cry to You, || And You do not answer me, I have stood, and You consider me. 
You are turned to be fierce to me, || With the strength of Your hand, || You oppress me. 
You lift me up, || You cause me to ride on the wind, || And You melt—You level me. 
For I have known You bring me back to death, || And to the house appointed for all living. 
Surely not against the heap || Does He send forth the hand, || Though they have safety in its ruin. 
Did I not weep for him whose day is hard? My soul has grieved for the needy. 
When I expected good, then comes evil, || And I wait for light, and darkness comes. 
My bowels have boiled, and have not ceased, || Days of affliction have gone before me. 
I have gone mourning without the sun, || I have risen, I cry in an assembly. 
I have been a brother to dragons, || And a companion to daughters of the ostrich. 
My skin has been black on me, || And my bone has burned from heat, 
And my harp becomes mourning, || And my pipe the sound of weeping.” 
