The Book of Job

My soul is weary of my life, I will let go my speech against myself, I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.

I will say to God: Do not condemn me: tell me why thou judgest me so.

Doth it seem good to thee that thou shouldst calumniate me, and oppress me, the work of thy own hands, and help the counsel of the wicked?

Hast thou eyes of flesh: or, shalt thou see as man seeth?

Are thy days as the days of man, and are thy years as the times of men:

That thou shouldst inquire after my iniquity, and search after my sin?

And shouldst know that I have done no wicked thing, whereas there is no man that can deliver out of thy hand.

Thy hands have made me, and fashioned me wholly round about, and dost thou thus cast me down headlong on a sudden?

Remember, I beseech thee, that thou hast made me as the clay, and thou wilt bring me into dust again.

Hast thou not milked me as milk, and curdled me like cheese?

Thou hast clothed me with skin and flesh: thou hast put me together with bones and sinews:

Thou hast granted me life and mercy, and thy visitation hath preserved my spirit.

Although thou conceal these things in thy heart, yet I know that thou rememberest all things.

If I have sinned and thou hast spared me for an hour: why dost thou not suffer me to be clean from my iniquity?

And if I be wicked, woe unto me: and if just, I shall not lift up my head, being filled with affliction and misery.

And for pride thou wilt take me as a lioness, and returning thou tormentest me wonderfully.

Thou renewest thy witnesses against me, and multipliest thy wrath upon me, and pains war against me.

Why didst thou bring me forth out of the womb: O that I had been consumed that eye might not see me!

I should have been as if I had not been, carried from the womb to the grave.

Shall not the fewness of my days be ended shortly? suffer me, therefore, that I may lament my sorrow a little:

Before I go, and return no more, to a land that is dark and covered with the mist of death:

A land of misery and darkness, where the shadow of death, and no order, but everlasting horror dwelleth.

“My soul is weary of my life. I will give free course to my complaint. I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.

I will tell God, ‘Do not condemn me. Show me why you contend with me.

Is it good to you that you should oppress, that you should despise the work of your hands, and smile on the counsel of the wicked?

Do you have eyes of flesh? Or do you see as man sees?

Are your days as the days of mortals, or your years as man’s years,

that you inquire after my iniquity, and search after my sin?

Although you know that I am not wicked, there is no one who can deliver out of your hand.

“‘Your hands have framed me and fashioned me altogether, yet you destroy me.

Remember, I beg you, that you have fashioned me as clay. Will you bring me into dust again?

Haven’t you poured me out like milk, and curdled me like cheese?

You have clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews.

You have granted me life and loving kindness. Your visitation has preserved my spirit.

Yet you hid these things in your heart. I know that this is with you:

if I sin, then you mark me. You will not acquit me from my iniquity.

If I am wicked, woe to me. If I am righteous, I still will not lift up my head, being filled with disgrace, and conscious of my affliction.

If my head is held high, you hunt me like a lion. Again you show yourself powerful to me.

You renew your witnesses against me, and increase your indignation on me. Changes and warfare are with me.

“‘Why, then, have you brought me out of the womb? I wish I had given up the spirit, and no eye had seen me.

I should have been as though I had not been. I should have been carried from the womb to the grave.

Aren’t my days few? Stop! Leave me alone, that I may find a little comfort,

before I go where I will not return from, to the land of darkness and of the shadow of death;

the land dark as midnight, of the shadow of death, without any order, where the light is as midnight.’”