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Job continued speaking:
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“I long for the years gone by
when God took care of me,
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when he lit up the way before me
and I walked safely through the darkness.
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When I was in my prime,
God’s friendship was felt in my home.
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The Almighty was still with me,
and my children were around me.
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My cows produced milk in abundance,
and my groves poured out streams of olive oil.
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“Those were the days when I went to the city gate
and took my place among the honored leaders.
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The young stepped aside when they saw me,
and even the aged rose in respect at my coming.
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The princes stood in silence
and put their hands over their mouths.
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The highest officials of the city stood quietly,
holding their tongues in respect.
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“All who heard me praised me.
All who saw me spoke well of me.
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For I assisted the poor in their need
and the orphans who required help.
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I helped those without hope, and they blessed me.
And I caused the widows’ hearts to sing for joy.
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Everything I did was honest.
Righteousness covered me like a robe,
and I wore justice like a turban.
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I served as eyes for the blind
and feet for the lame.
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I was a father to the poor
and assisted strangers who needed help.
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I broke the jaws of godless oppressors
and plucked their victims from their teeth.
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“I thought, ‘Surely I will die surrounded by my family
after a long, good life. 1
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For I am like a tree whose roots reach the water,
whose branches are refreshed with the dew.
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New honors are constantly bestowed on me,
and my strength is continually renewed.’
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“Everyone listened to my advice.
They were silent as they waited for me to speak.
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And after I spoke, they had nothing to add,
for my counsel satisfied them.
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They longed for me to speak as people long for rain.
They drank my words like a refreshing spring rain.
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When they were discouraged, I smiled at them.
My look of approval was precious to them.
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Like a chief, I told them what to do.
I lived like a king among his troops
and comforted those who mourned.
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“But now I am mocked by people younger than I,
by young men whose fathers are not worthy to run with my sheepdogs.
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A lot of good they are to me -
those worn-out wretches!
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They are gaunt with hunger
and flee to the deserts,
to desolate and gloomy wastelands.
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They pluck wild greens from among the bushes
and eat from the roots of broom trees.
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They are driven from human society,
and people shout at them as if they were thieves.
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So now they live in frightening ravines,
in caves and among the rocks.
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They sound like animals howling among the bushes,
huddled together beneath the nettles.
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They are nameless fools,
outcasts from society.
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“And now they mock me with vulgar songs!
They taunt me!
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They despise me and won’t come near me,
except to spit in my face.
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For God has cut my bowstring.
He has humbled me,
so they have thrown off all restraint.
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These outcasts oppose me to my face.
They send me sprawling
and lay traps in my path.
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They block my road
and do everything they can to destroy me.
They know I have no one to help me.
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They come at me from all directions.
They jump on me when I am down.
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I live in terror now.
My honor has blown away in the wind,
and my prosperity has vanished like a cloud.
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“And now my life seeps away.
Depression haunts my days.
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At night my bones are filled with pain,
which gnaws at me relentlessly.
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With a strong hand, God grabs my shirt.
He grips me by the collar of my coat.
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He has thrown me into the mud.
I’m nothing more than dust and ashes.
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“I cry to you, O God, but you don’t answer.
I stand before you, but you don’t even look.
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You have become cruel toward me.
You use your power to persecute me.
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You throw me into the whirlwind
and destroy me in the storm.
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And I know you are sending me to my death -
the destination of all who live.
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“Surely no one would turn against the needy
when they cry for help in their trouble.
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Did I not weep for those in trouble?
Was I not deeply grieved for the needy?
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So I looked for good, but evil came instead.
I waited for the light, but darkness fell.
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My heart is troubled and restless.
Days of suffering torment me.
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I walk in gloom, without sunlight.
I stand in the public square and cry for help.
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Instead, I am considered a brother to jackals
and a companion to owls.
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My skin has turned dark,
and my bones burn with fever.
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My harp plays sad music,
and my flute accompanies those who weep.