Job 17
1 My spirit is crushed; my life is extinguished; the grave is ready for me.
My spirit will be wasted, my days will be shortened, and only the grave will be left for me.
2 Mockers surround me. I see how bitterly they ridicule me.
I have not sinned, yet my eye remains in bitterness.
3 God, you need to put down a pledge for me with yourself, for who else will be my guarantor?
Free me, O Lord, and set me beside you, and let the hand of anyone you wish fight against me.
4 You have closed their minds to understanding, so do not let them win!
You have set their heart far from discipline; therefore, they will not be praised.
5 They betray friends to gain benefit for themselves and their children suffer for it.
He promises prey to his companions, but the eyes of his sons will grow faint.
6 He has made me a proverb of ridicule among the people; they spit in my face.
He has posted me like a proverb to the people, and I am an example in their presence.
7 My eyes are worn out from crying and my body is a shadow of its former self.
My eyesight has been clouded by indignation, and my limbs have been reduced, as if to nothing.
8 People who think they are good are shocked to see me. Those who are innocent are troubled by the godless.
The just will be astounded over this, and the innocent will be stirred up against the hypocrite.
9 Those who are right keep going, and those whose hands are clean grow stronger and stronger.
And the just will cling to his way, and clean hands will increase strength.
10 Why don't you come back and repeat again what you've been saying?—yet I still won't find a wise man among you!
Therefore, be converted, all of you, and approach, for I do not find in you any wisdom.
11 My life is over. My plans are gone. My heart is broken.
My days have passed away; my thoughts have been scattered, tormenting my heart.
12 They turn night into day, and say that daylight is close to darkness.
They have turned night into day, and I hope for light again after the darkness.
If I should wait, the underworld is my house, and in darkness I have spread out my bed. (Sheol h7585)
14 Should I call the grave my father, and the maggot my mother or my sister?
I have said to decay and to worms: “You are my father, my mother, and my sister.”
15 So then where is my hope? Can anyone see any hope for me?
Therefore, where is my expectation now, and who is it that considers my patience?
