Job 13

¹ Lo, all — hath mine eye seen, Heard hath mine ear, and it attendeth to it.

² According to your knowledge I have known — also I. I am not fallen more than you.

³ Yet I for the Mighty One do speak, And to argue for God I delight.

⁴ And yet, ye [are] forgers of falsehood, Physicians of nought — all of you,

⁵ O that ye would keep perfectly silent, And it would be to you for wisdom.

⁶ Hear, I pray you, my argument, And to the pleadings of my lips attend,

⁷ For God do ye speak perverseness ? And for Him do ye speak deceit ?

⁸ His face do ye accept, if for God ye strive ?

⁹ Is [it] good that He doth search you, If, as one mocketh at a man, ye mock at Him ?

¹⁰ He doth surely reprove you, if in secret ye accept faces.

¹¹ Doth not His excellency terrify you ? And His dread fall upon you ?

¹² Your remembrances [are] similes of ashes, For high places of clay your heights.

¹³ Keep silent from me, and I speak, And pass over me doth what ?

¹⁴ Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth ? And my soul put in my hand ?

¹⁵ Lo, He doth slay me — I wait not ! Only, my ways unto His face I argue.

¹⁶ Also — He [is] to me for salvation, For the profane cometh not before Him.

¹⁷ Hear ye diligently my word, And my declaration with your ears.

¹⁸ Lo, I pray you, I have set in order the cause, I have known that I am righteous.

¹⁹ Who [is] he that doth strive with me ? For now I keep silent and gasp.

²⁰ Only two things, O God, do with me : Then from Thy face I am not hidden.

²¹ Thy hand put far off from me, And Thy terror let not terrify me.

²² And call Thou, and I — I answer, Or — I speak, and answer Thou me.

²³ How many iniquities and sins have I ? My transgression and my sin let me know.

²⁴ Why dost Thou hide Thy face ? And reckonest me for an enemy to Thee ?

²⁵ A leaf driven away dost Thou terrify ? And the dry stubble dost Thou pursue ?

²⁶ For Thou writest against me bitter things, And causest me to possess iniquities of my youth :

²⁷ And puttest in the stocks my feet, And observest all my paths, On the roots of my feet Thou settest a print,

²⁸ And he, as a rotten thing, weareth away, As a garment hath a moth consumed him.