Job.
Chapter 17.
My breath is exhausted; My days are at an end; The grave is ready for me. 
Are not revilers before me? And doth not my eye dwell upon their provocations? 
Give a pledge, I pray thee; be thou a surety for me with thee; Who is he that will strike hands with me? 
Behold, thou hast blinded their understanding; Therefore thou wilt not suffer them to prevail. 
He who delivereth up his friends as a prey,—The eyes of his children shall fail. 
He made me the by-word of the people; Yea, I have become their abhorrence. 
My eye therefore is dim with sorrow, And all my limbs are as a shadow. 
Upright men will be astonished at this, And the innocent will rouse themselves against the wicked. 
The righteous will also hold on his way, And he that hath clean hands will gather strength. 
But as for you all, return, I pray! I find not yet among you one wise man. 
My days are at an end; My plans are broken off; Even the treasures of my heart. 
Night hath become day to me; The light bordereth on darkness. 
Yea, I look to the grave as my home; I have made my bed in darkness. 
I say to the pit, Thou art my father! And to the worm, My mother! and, My sister! 
Where then is my hope? Yea, my hope, who shall see it? 
It must go down to the bars of the under-world, As soon as there is rest for me in the dust. 
