The Book of Job

⭑ Catholic Public Domain :: World English Bible Catholic ⭑

- Chapter 30 -

But now, those younger in years scorn me, whose fathers I would not have seen fit to place with the dogs of my flock,(a)

the strength of whose hands was nothing to me, and they were considered unworthy of life itself.

They were barren from poverty and hunger; they gnawed in solitude, layered with misfortune and misery.

And they chewed grass and the bark from trees, and the root of junipers was their food.

They took these things from the steep valleys, and when they discovered one of these things, they rushed to the others with a cry.

They lived in the parched desert and in caves underground or above the rocks.

They rejoiced among these kinds of things, and they considered it delightful to be under thorns.

These are the sons of foolish and base men, not even paying any attention to the land.

Now I become their song, and I have been made into their proverb.

They loathe me, and so they flee far from me, and they are not reluctant to spit in my face.

For he has opened his quiver and has afflicted me, and he has placed a bridle in my mouth.

Immediately, upon rising, my calamities rise up to the right. They have overturned my feet and have pressed me down along their way like waves.

They have diverted my journeys; they have waited to ambush me, and they have prevailed, and there was no one who might bring help.

They have rushed upon me, as when a wall is broken or a gate opened, and they have been pulled down into my miseries.

I have been reduced to nothing. You have taken away my desire like a wind, and my health has passed by like a cloud.

But now my soul withers within myself, and the days of affliction take hold of me.

At night, my bone is pierced with sorrows, and those who feed on me, do not sleep.

By the sheer number of them my clothing is worn away, and they have closed in on me like the collar of my coat.

I have been treated like dirt, and I have been turned into embers and ashes.

I cry to you, and you do not heed me. I stand up, and you do not look back at me.

You have changed me into hardness, and, with the hardness of your hand, you oppose me.(b)

You have lifted me up, and, placing me as if on the wind, you have thrown me down powerfully.

I know that you will hand me over to death, where a home has been established for all the living.

Truly, then, you do not extend your hand in order to consume them, and if they fall down, you will save them.

Once, I wept over him who was afflicted, and my soul had compassion on the poor.

I expected good things, but evil things have come to me. I stood ready for light, yet darkness burst forth.

My insides have seethed, without any rest, for the days of affliction have prevented it.

I went forth mourning, without anger, and rising up, I cried out in confusion.

I was the brother of snakes, and the companion of ostriches.(c)

My skin has become blackened over me, and my bones have dried up because of the heat.

My harp has been turned into mourning, and my pipes have been turned into a voice of weeping.

Footnotes

(a)30:1 But now the younger in time:That is, younger than I am, and as it were obscure, when I was conspicuous and in magnificence; they now look down on me.(Challoner)

(b)30:21 The first part of this verse does not say that God has changed into cruelty, but rather that God has changed Job ‘into hardness’ or ‘to have a hard heart.’ Notice the play on words (which is almost lost by the Latin using two different words, crudelem and duritia, to refer to hardness). God ‘has been changing’ Job into hardness and God has a ‘hard hand.’ In English, we do not use the perfect passive participle nearly as often as it is used in Latin. Therefore, ‘has been changing’ is better rendered as ‘have changed.’ The translation then becomes: “You have changed me into hardness, and, with the hardness of your hand, you have opposed me.”(Conte)

“But now those who are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I considered unworthy to put with my sheep dogs.

Of what use is the strength of their hands to me, men in whom ripe age has perished?

They are gaunt from lack and famine. They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of waste and desolation.

They pluck salt herbs by the bushes. The roots of the broom tree are their food.

They are driven out from among men. They cry after them as after a thief,

so that they live in frightful valleys, and in holes of the earth and of the rocks.

They bray among the bushes. They are gathered together under the nettles.

They are children of fools, yes, children of wicked men. They were flogged out of the land.

“Now I have become their song. Yes, I am a byword to them.

They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, and don’t hesitate to spit in my face.

For he has untied his cord, and afflicted me; and they have thrown off restraint before me.

On my right hand rise the rabble. They thrust aside my feet. They cast their ways of destruction up against me.

They mar my path. They promote my destruction without anyone’s help.

As through a wide breach they come. They roll themselves in amid the ruin.

Terrors have turned on me. They chase my honor as the wind. My welfare has passed away as a cloud.

“Now my soul is poured out within me. Days of affliction have taken hold of me.

In the night season my bones are pierced in me, and the pains that gnaw me take no rest.

My garment is disfigured by great force. It binds me about as the collar of my tunic.

He has cast me into the mire. I have become like dust and ashes.

I cry to you, and you do not answer me. I stand up, and you gaze at me.

You have turned to be cruel to me. With the might of your hand you persecute me.

You lift me up to the wind, and drive me with it. You dissolve me in the storm.

For I know that you will bring me to death, to the house appointed for all living.

“However doesn’t one stretch out a hand in his fall? Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?

Didn’t I weep for him who was in trouble? Wasn’t my soul grieved for the needy?

When I looked for good, then evil came. When I waited for light, darkness came.

My heart is troubled, and doesn’t rest. Days of affliction have come on me.

I go mourning without the sun. I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.

I am a brother to jackals, and a companion to ostriches.

My skin grows black and peels from me. My bones are burned with heat.

Therefore my harp has turned to mourning, and my pipe into the voice of those who weep.