Mockers

¹But now those younger than I mock me,

whose fathers I refused to put beside my sheepdogs.

²Their strength, what’s it to me,

their energy having perished?

³Stiff from want and hunger,

those who gnaw dry ground,

yesterday’s desolate waste,

⁴who pluck off the leaves on a bush,

the root of the broom—

a shrub is their food.

⁵People banish them from society,

⁶so they live in scary ravines,

⁷Among shrubs, they make sounds like donkeys;

they are huddled together under a bush,

⁸children of fools and the nameless,

Specific mocking behavior

⁹And now I’m their song;

I’m their cliché!

¹⁰They detest me, keep their distance,

don’t withhold spit from my face.

¹¹Because he loosened my bowstring and afflicted me,

they throw off restraint in my presence.

¹²On the right, upstarts rise and target my feet,[#30.12 Heb uncertain]

build their siege ramps against me,

¹³destroy my road, profit from my fall,

¹⁴They advance as if through a destroyed wall;[#30.14 Or a wide opening]

they roll along beneath the ruin.

¹⁵Terrors crash upon me;

they sweep away my honor like wind;

Accusation against God

¹⁶Now my life is poured out on me;

days of misery have seized me.

¹⁷At night he bores my bones;

my gnawing pain won’t rest.

¹⁸With great force he grasps my clothing;[#30.18 LXX; #30.18 Heb uncertain]

it binds me like the neck of my shirt.

¹⁹He hurls me into mud;

I’m a cliché, like dust and ashes.

²⁰I cry to you, and you don’t answer;

I stand up, but you just look at me.

²¹You are cruel to me,

attack me with the strength of your hand.

²²You lift me to the wind and make me ride;

you melt me in its roar.

²³I know you will return me to death,

the house appointed for all the living.

Job’s agony

²⁴Surely he won’t strike someone in ruins

²⁵if I didn’t weep for those who have a difficult day

²⁶for I awaited good, but evil came;

²⁷My insides, churning, are never quiet;

days of affliction confront me.

²⁸I walk in the dark, lacking sunshine;

I rise in the assembly and cry out.

²⁹I have become a brother to jackals,

a companion to young ostriches.

³⁰My skin is charred;

my bones are scorched by the heat.

³¹My lyre is for mourning,

my flute, a weeping sound.