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Then responded Job, and said: -

Oh that, weighed, were my vexation, and, my engulfing ruin - into the balances, they would lift up all at once!

For, now, beyond the sand of the seas, would it be heavy, On this account, my words, have wandered.

For, the arrows of the Almighty, are in me, The heat whereof, my spirit is drinking up, The, terrors of GOD, array themselves against me.

Doth the wild ass bray over grass? Or loweth the ox over his fodder?

Can that which hath no savour be eaten without salt? Or is there any taste in the white of an egg?

My soul hath refused to touch, Those things, are like disease in my food.

Oh that my request would come! and, my hope, oh that GOD would grant!

That it would please GOD to crush me, That he would set free his hand, and cut me off!

So might it still be my comfort, And I might exult in the anguish he would not spare, - That I had not concealed the sayings of the Holy One.

What is my strength, that I should hope? Or what mine end, that I should prolong my desire?

Is my strength, the strength of stones? Or is, my flesh, of bronze?

Is there any help at all in me? Is not, abiding success, driven from me?

The despairing, from his friend, should have lovingkindness, or, the reverence of the Almighty, he may forsake.

Mine own brethren, have proved treacherous like a torrent, like a channel of torrents which disappear:

Which darken by reason of the cold, over them, is a covering made by the snow:

By the time they begin to thaw, they are dried up, as soon as it is warm, they have vanished out of their place.

Caravans turn aside by their course, they go up into a waste, and are lost:

The caravans of Tema looked about, the travelling companies of Sheba, hoped for them:

They are ashamed that they had trusted, They have come up to one of them, and are confounded.

For, now, ye have come to him, ye see something fearful, and fear.

Is it that I said, Make me a gift, or, out of your abundance, offer a bribe on my behalf;

And deliver me from the hand of the adversary? And, out of the hand of tyrants, ransom me?

Show me, and, I, will hold my peace, And, wherein I have erred, cause me to understand.

How pleasant are the sayings that are right! But what can a decision from you, decide?

To decide words, do ye intend, When, to the wind, are spoken the sayings of one in despair?

Surely, the fatherless, ye would assail, and make merchandise of your friend!

But, now, be pleased to turn to me, that it may be, to your faces, if I speak falsehood,

Reply, I pray you, let there be no perversity, Yea reply even yet, my vindication is in it!

Is there, in my tongue, perversity? Or can, my sense, not discern, engulfing ruin?

Is there not a warfare to a mortal, upon earth? And, as the days of a hireling, are not his days?

As, a bondman, panteth for the shadow, and as, a hireling, longeth for his wage,

So, have I been made to inherit months of calamity, and, nights of weariness, have been appointed me.

As soon as I lie down, I say, When shall I arise? yet he lengtheneth out the evening, and I am wearied with tossings until the breeze of twilight.

My flesh is clothed with worms and a coating of dust, My skin, hath hardened, and then run afresh:

My days, are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and they are spent, without hope.

Remember thou, that, a wind, is my life, not again shall mine eye see blessing:

Nor shall see me - the eye that used to behold me, Thine eyes, are upon me, and I am not.

A cloud faileth, and is gone, So, he that descendeth to hades, shall not come up:

He shall not return again to his house, and his own place shall be acquainted with him no more.

I also, cannot restrain my mouth, - I must speak, in the anguish of my spirit, I must find utterance, in the bitterness of my soul.

Am, I, a sea, or a sea-monster, - That thou shouldst set over me a watch?

When I say, My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall help to carry my complaint,

Then thou scarest me with dreams, and, by visions, dost thou terrify me:

So that my soul chooseth strangling, Death, rather than these my bones!

I am wasted away, Not, to times age-abiding, can I live, Let me alone, for, a breath, are my days.

What is a mortal, that thou shouldst nurture him? Or that thou shouldst fix upon him thy mind?

That thou shouldst inspect him morning by morning, moment by moment, shouldst test him?

How long wilt thou not look away from me? Wilt thou not let me alone, till I can swallow my spittle?

I have sinned, What can I do for thee, thou watcher of men? Wherefore hast thou set me as thine object of attack, or have I become, unto thee, a burden?

And why wilt thou not remove my transgression, and take away mine iniquity? For, now, in the dust, should I lie down, and thou shouldst seek me diligently, and I should not be.