Job 17
1 My spirit is crushed; my life is extinguished; the grave is ready for me.
My spirit shall be wasted, my days shall be shortened, and only the grave remaineth for me.
2 Mockers surround me. I see how bitterly they ridicule me.
I have not sinned, and my eye abideth in bitterness.
3 God, you need to put down a pledge for me with yourself, for who else will be my guarantor?
Deliver me O Lord, and set me beside thee, and let any man’s hand fight against me.
4 You have closed their minds to understanding, so do not let them win!
Thou hast set their heart far from understanding, therefore they shall not be exalted.
5 They betray friends to gain benefit for themselves and their children suffer for it.
He promiseth a prey to his companions, and the eyes of his children shall fail.
6 He has made me a proverb of ridicule among the people; they spit in my face.
He hath made me as it were a byword of the people, and I am an example before them.
7 My eyes are worn out from crying and my body is a shadow of its former self.
My eye is dim through indignation, and my limbs are brought as it were 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 shall be astonished at this, and the innocent shall be raised up against the hypocrite.
9 Those who are right keep going, and those whose hands are clean grow stronger and stronger.
And the just man shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall be stronger and stronger.
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!
Wherefore be you all converted, and come, and I shall not find among you any wise man.
11 My life is over. My plans are gone. My heart is broken.
My days have passed away, my thoughts are dissipated, tormenting my heart.
12 They turn night into day, and say that daylight is close to darkness.
They have turned night into day, and after darkness I hope for light again.
If I wait hell is my house, and I have made my bed in darkness. (Sheol h7585)
14 Should I call the grave my father, and the maggot my mother or my sister?
If I have said to rottenness: Thou art my father; to worms, my mother and my sister.
15 So then where is my hope? Can anyone see any hope for me?
Where is now then my expectation, and who considereth my patience?
