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17JobPassage
1 My breathing is growing weaker and the gravediggers are gathering for me.            
2 Scoffers are my only companions, their harshness haunts my nights.            
3 So you must go bail for me to yourself, for which of them cares to clap his hand on mine?            
4 For you have shut their hearts to reason, hence not a hand is lifted.            
5 Just so is a man who invites his friends to share his property while the eyes of his own children languish.            
6 I have become a byword among foreigners, and a creature on whose face to spit,            
7 since I am nearly blind with grief and my limbs are reduced to a shadow.            
8 Any honest person is appalled at the sight, the innocent is indignant at the sinner.            
9 Anyone upright grows stronger step by step: and anyone whose hands are clean grows ever in vigour!            
10 Come on then, all of you, back to the attack! I shall not find one wise man among you!            
11 My days are over, so are my plans, my heart-strings are broken;            
12 yet they would have me believe that night is day, that light to dispel the darkness is at hand,            
13 when all I want, in fact, is to dwell in Sheol and in that darkness there to make my bed!            
14 To the tomb, I cry, 'You are my father!'—to the worm, 'You are my mother-you, my sister!'            
15 Where then is my hope? Who can see any happiness for me?            
16 unless they come down to Sheol with me, all of us sinking into the dust together?            
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© Paul Ingram 2019.
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