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Great and small alike are there, and the slave is free of his master.

class="poetry"> Iyov said, "Perish the day I was born and the night that said, ‘A man is conceived.' May that day be darkness, may God on high not seek it, may no light shine on it, may gloom dark as death defile it, may clouds settle on it, may it be terrified by its own blackness. "As for that night, may thick darkness seize it, may it not be joined to the days of the year, may it not be numbered among the months; may that night be desolate, may no cry of joy be heard in it; may those who curse days curse it, those who[se curses] could rouse Livyatan; may the stars of its twilight be dark, may it look for light but get none, may it never see the shimmer of dawn — because it didn't shut the doors of the womb I was in and shield my eyes from trouble. "If I had been stillborn, if I had died at birth, had there been no knees to receive me or breasts for me to suck. Then I would be lying still and in peace, I would have slept and been at rest, along with kings and their earthly advisers, who rebuilt ruins for themselves, or with princes who had [plenty of] gold, who filled their houses with silver. Or I could have been like a hidden, miscarried child that never saw light. "There the wicked cease their raging, there the weary are at rest, prisoners live at peace together without hearing a taskmaster's yells. Great and small alike are there, and the slave is free of his master. "So why must light be given to the miserable and life to the bitter in spirit? They long for death, but it never comes; they search for it more than for buried treasure; when at last they find the grave, they are so happy they shout for joy. [Why give light] to a man who wanders blindly, whom God shuts in on every side? "My sighing serves in place of my food, and my groans pour out in a torrent; for the thing I feared has overwhelmed me, what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quiet, no rest; and anguish keeps coming."

At a breath from God, they perish; at a blast from his anger, they are consumed.

‘Can a human be seen by God as righteous? Can a mortal be pure before his maker?

[God] doesn't trust his own servants, he finds fault even with his angels;

I watch as a fool establishes roots, but I curse his home with sudden [destruction] —

his children are far from help, publicly humiliated, with no one to rescue;

the hungry eat up his harvest, taking it even from among thorns, while the thirsty are panting, eager to swallow his wealth.

For he wounds, but he bandages the sore; his hands may strike, but they also heal.

that God would decide to crush me, that he would let his hand loose and cut me off!

like a slave longing for shade, like a worker thinking only of his wages.

He will not return again to his house, and his home will know him no more.

his confidence is mere gossamer, his trust a spider's web.

He can lean on his house, but it won't stand; he can hold on to it, but it won't last;

His heart is so wise, his strength so great — who can resist him and succeed?

"He moves the mountains, although they don't know it, when he overturns them in his anger.

He commands the sun, and it fails to rise; he shuts up the stars under his seal.

God will not withdraw his anger — even Rahav's supporters submit to him.

There is no arbitrator between us who could lay his hand on us both.

If he would remove his rod from me and not let his terrors frighten me,