Job 17
Job Contemplates Death
or
A Byword
based on Job 17
God has made me a byword
Job 17:6
Job 17:6
Oh, my spirit is crushed, and I'll soon turn to dust;
how my soul longs for rest in the grave.
Crowds surround me and jeer, and they taunt me and sneer;
and I gaze at the ways they behave.
Give the pledge you demand, sealed by shaking your hand,
since there's none else to stand by my side.
My friends understand not, you've hid reason and thought,
therefore don't let them be glorified.
Those betraying a friend pay the price in the end
for their children will suffer for it.
God has treated my fall as a byword to all;
I'm the man in whose face people spit.
My eyes constantly weep for my sorrow is deep,
and my body's a shadow these days.
The true men are amazed and the innocent, fazed
at their godless and skeptical ways.
Yet, the righteous hold fast, those with clean hands will last
and grow stronger in all that they do.
But, come on, try again. We'll discuss things like men,
but I'll not find one wise among you.
Since my days are now o'er, I don't plan anymore,
gone are hopes and designs of my heart.
Friends claim night is the day; light is coming, they say,
but I know I remain in the dark.
My last hope's with the dead with the grave for my bed,
it's the only home I long to see.
To the pit, if I'd say, You're my father today,
to the worm, You're now mother to me,
then, with death all around, where is hope to be found?
Is there any to aid in my quest?
Will hope follow my soul to the gates of Sheol?
In the dust, lie beside me and rest?
how my soul longs for rest in the grave.
Crowds surround me and jeer, and they taunt me and sneer;
and I gaze at the ways they behave.
Give the pledge you demand, sealed by shaking your hand,
since there's none else to stand by my side.
My friends understand not, you've hid reason and thought,
therefore don't let them be glorified.
Those betraying a friend pay the price in the end
for their children will suffer for it.
God has treated my fall as a byword to all;
I'm the man in whose face people spit.
My eyes constantly weep for my sorrow is deep,
and my body's a shadow these days.
The true men are amazed and the innocent, fazed
at their godless and skeptical ways.
Yet, the righteous hold fast, those with clean hands will last
and grow stronger in all that they do.
But, come on, try again. We'll discuss things like men,
but I'll not find one wise among you.
Since my days are now o'er, I don't plan anymore,
gone are hopes and designs of my heart.
Friends claim night is the day; light is coming, they say,
but I know I remain in the dark.
My last hope's with the dead with the grave for my bed,
it's the only home I long to see.
To the pit, if I'd say, You're my father today,
to the worm, You're now mother to me,
then, with death all around, where is hope to be found?
Is there any to aid in my quest?
Will hope follow my soul to the gates of Sheol?
In the dust, lie beside me and rest?
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