Job 27
Job's Final Speech
or
Closing Arguments
based on Job 27
I will never give up my claim to be right
Job 27:6
Job 27:6
Job continued speaking:
As God lives, in his might, who's denied me my right,
by Shaddai, my soul's bitterness grows;
for as long as I breathe in the air I'll believe
it's God's breath that remains in my nose.
I will speak, as I must — but I won't be unjust,
and my tongue will not utter a lie.
But, with all due respect, I don't think you're correct;
and I'll maintain this fact till I die.
In my innocence — know I will never let go;
a clear conscience, for me, is a must.
Let my enemy be like the wicked to me;
my opponent be like the unjust.
For what hope will remain of the godless men’s gain
once their lives have been taken away?
Does their sorrowful cry reach the ears of Shaddai?
Will God listen to them when they pray?
Do they take their delight in God's infinite might?
Do they seek him whenever they feel?
I'll explain in detail how God's hand does not fail,
and there's nothing that I will conceal.
But you cannot ignore — you’ve seen all this before,
what nonsensical things you believe!
Here's the wicked man's lot that Almighty has wrought,
and the heirloom the ruthless receive.
Though their children are great they will share the same fate:
for the famine and sword they were born.
A pandemic will thrive on the ones that survive,
and their widows will not even mourn.
Though the silver he keeps has been stacked up on heaps,
and his clothes are like piles of dust,
now the righteous men wear robes he never would share,
and his wealth is possessed by the just.
His home's fragile as one that a spider has spun,
like a hut made of twigs from a tree.
For the rich go to bed counting wealth in their head,
but awake just as poor as can be.
Terror strikes like a flood and fear curdles his blood;
swept away like a storm in the night.
Once the east wind has blown, others find he was thrown
far away — he'll be lost from their sight.
He'll be battered and bruised, without mercy, abused;
try to flee from the power of God.
Men will be overjoyed that this man is destroyed,
and derisively jeer and applaud.
by Shaddai, my soul's bitterness grows;
for as long as I breathe in the air I'll believe
it's God's breath that remains in my nose.
I will speak, as I must — but I won't be unjust,
and my tongue will not utter a lie.
But, with all due respect, I don't think you're correct;
and I'll maintain this fact till I die.
In my innocence — know I will never let go;
a clear conscience, for me, is a must.
Let my enemy be like the wicked to me;
my opponent be like the unjust.
For what hope will remain of the godless men’s gain
once their lives have been taken away?
Does their sorrowful cry reach the ears of Shaddai?
Will God listen to them when they pray?
Do they take their delight in God's infinite might?
Do they seek him whenever they feel?
I'll explain in detail how God's hand does not fail,
and there's nothing that I will conceal.
But you cannot ignore — you’ve seen all this before,
what nonsensical things you believe!
Here's the wicked man's lot that Almighty has wrought,
and the heirloom the ruthless receive.
Though their children are great they will share the same fate:
for the famine and sword they were born.
A pandemic will thrive on the ones that survive,
and their widows will not even mourn.
Though the silver he keeps has been stacked up on heaps,
and his clothes are like piles of dust,
now the righteous men wear robes he never would share,
and his wealth is possessed by the just.
His home's fragile as one that a spider has spun,
like a hut made of twigs from a tree.
For the rich go to bed counting wealth in their head,
but awake just as poor as can be.
Terror strikes like a flood and fear curdles his blood;
swept away like a storm in the night.
Once the east wind has blown, others find he was thrown
far away — he'll be lost from their sight.
He'll be battered and bruised, without mercy, abused;
try to flee from the power of God.
Men will be overjoyed that this man is destroyed,
and derisively jeer and applaud.
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