1
Job continued his discourse:
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"How I long for the months gone by,
for the days when God watched over me,
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when his lamp shone on my head
and by his light I walked through darkness!
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Oh, for the days when I was in my prime,
when God's intimate friendship blessed my house,
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when the Almighty was still with me
and my children were around me,
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when my path was drenched with cream
and the rock poured out for me streams of olive oil.
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"When I went to the gate of the city
and took my seat in the public square,
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the young men saw me and stepped aside
and the old men rose to their feet;
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the chief men refrained from speaking
and covered their mouths with their hands;
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the voices of the nobles were hushed,
and their tongues stuck to the roof of their mouths.
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Whoever heard me spoke well of me,
and those who saw me commended me,
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because I rescued the poor who cried for help,
and the fatherless who had none to assist them.
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The one who was dying blessed me;
I made the widow's heart sing.
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I put on righteousness as my clothing;
justice was my robe and my turban.
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I was eyes to the blind
and feet to the lame.
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I was a father to the needy;
I took up the case of the stranger.
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I broke the fangs of the wicked
and snatched the victims from their teeth.
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"I thought, 'I will die in my own house,
my days as numerous as the grains of sand.
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My roots will reach to the water,
and the dew will lie all night on my branches.
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My glory will not fade;
the bow will be ever new in my hand.'
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"People listened to me expectantly,
waiting in silence for my counsel.
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After I had spoken, they spoke no more;
my words fell gently on their ears.
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They waited for me as for showers
and drank in my words as the spring rain.
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When I smiled at them, they scarcely believed it;
the light of my face was precious to them. 1
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I chose the way for them and sat as their chief;
I dwelt as a king among his troops;
I was like one who comforts mourners.
1
"But now they mock me,
men younger than I,
whose fathers I would have disdained
to put with my sheep dogs.
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Of what use was the strength of their hands to me,
since their vigor had gone from them?
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Haggard from want and hunger,
they roamed 2 the parched land
in desolate wastelands at night.
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In the brush they gathered salt herbs,
and their food 3 was the root of the broom bush.
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They were banished from human society,
shouted at as if they were thieves.
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They were forced to live in the dry stream beds,
among the rocks and in holes in the ground.
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They brayed among the bushes
and huddled in the undergrowth.
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A base and nameless brood,
they were driven out of the land.
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"And now those young men mock me in song;
I have become a byword among them.
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They detest me and keep their distance;
they do not hesitate to spit in my face.
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Now that God has unstrung my bow and afflicted me,
they throw off restraint in my presence.
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On my right the tribe 4 attacks;
they lay snares for my feet,
they build their siege ramps against me.
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They break up my road;
they succeed in destroying me.
'No one can help him,' they say.
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They advance as through a gaping breach;
amid the ruins they come rolling in.
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Terrors overwhelm me;
my dignity is driven away as by the wind,
my safety vanishes like a cloud.
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"And now my life ebbs away;
days of suffering grip me.
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Night pierces my bones;
my gnawing pains never rest.
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In his great power God becomes like clothing to me 5 ;
he binds me like the neck of my garment.
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He throws me into the mud,
and I am reduced to dust and ashes.
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"I cry out to you, God, but you do not answer;
I stand up, but you merely look at me.
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You turn on me ruthlessly;
with the might of your hand you attack me.
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You snatch me up and drive me before the wind;
you toss me about in the storm.
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I know you will bring me down to death,
to the place appointed for all the living.
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"Surely no one lays a hand on a broken man
when he cries for help in his distress.
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Have I not wept for those in trouble?
Has not my soul grieved for the poor?
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Yet when I hoped for good, evil came;
when I looked for light, then came darkness.
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The churning inside me never stops;
days of suffering confront me.
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I go about blackened, but not by the sun;
I stand up in the assembly and cry for help.
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I have become a brother of jackals,
a companion of owls.
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My skin grows black and peels;
my body burns with fever.
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My lyre is tuned to mourning,
and my pipe to the sound of wailing.