Job 18
Bildad's Second Response to Job
or
Wicked Ways
based on Job 18
such is the fate of sinners
Job 18:21
Job 18:21
Then Bildad the Shuhite replied:
How long will you blather this nonsense you spew?
We must hear some sense before answering you.
Have we been regarded as cattle in guise?
Considered as stupid as beasts in your eyes?
You tear yourself up in this rage you've embraced.
Should earth be destroyed or the boulders displaced?
The wicked man's lamp is extinguished of light;
no glow of a flame when its needed at night.
His tent will be dark where he sits by himself;
his lamp will be quenched high above on a shelf.
The confident stride of the wicked turns frail;
conniving and scheming will cause him to fail.
The wicked man's feet wanders into the snare;
the mesh of the net in the pit that is there.
The gin grabs his heel and its seized with a SNAP!
A noose is concealed in his way as a trap.
The wicked are frightened by terror each day,
harassed and pursued every step of the way.
He's starving and weak and his hunger pangs call;
disaster awaiting his stumble and fall.
A skin disease slowly devouring him;
the firstborn of death is consuming each limb.
He's torn from the safety of home and his tent,
away to the kingdom of terror he's sent.
Spewed sulfur rains fire over all that he loves;
dried roots from below, withered branches above.
All memory fades of his life from this earth;
forgetting his name in the land of his birth.
He's driven from light — into darkness he's hurled;
evicted and banished and chased from this world.
He has no descendants or offspring to give;
not any survivor where he used to live.
The west was appalled at his fate that befell;
the east, overwhelmed by the horror as well.
For such is the life and the journey they trod:
a life without hope is a life without God.
We must hear some sense before answering you.
Have we been regarded as cattle in guise?
Considered as stupid as beasts in your eyes?
You tear yourself up in this rage you've embraced.
Should earth be destroyed or the boulders displaced?
The wicked man's lamp is extinguished of light;
no glow of a flame when its needed at night.
His tent will be dark where he sits by himself;
his lamp will be quenched high above on a shelf.
The confident stride of the wicked turns frail;
conniving and scheming will cause him to fail.
The wicked man's feet wanders into the snare;
the mesh of the net in the pit that is there.
The gin grabs his heel and its seized with a SNAP!
A noose is concealed in his way as a trap.
The wicked are frightened by terror each day,
harassed and pursued every step of the way.
He's starving and weak and his hunger pangs call;
disaster awaiting his stumble and fall.
A skin disease slowly devouring him;
the firstborn of death is consuming each limb.
He's torn from the safety of home and his tent,
away to the kingdom of terror he's sent.
Spewed sulfur rains fire over all that he loves;
dried roots from below, withered branches above.
All memory fades of his life from this earth;
forgetting his name in the land of his birth.
He's driven from light — into darkness he's hurled;
evicted and banished and chased from this world.
He has no descendants or offspring to give;
not any survivor where he used to live.
The west was appalled at his fate that befell;
the east, overwhelmed by the horror as well.
For such is the life and the journey they trod:
a life without hope is a life without God.
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