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Job – Chapter 27

Books of The Bible / Book of Job

1 And Job continued his solemn discourse. He said:

2 I swear by the living God who denies me justice, by Shaddai who has filled me with bitterness,

3 that as long as a shred of life is left in me, and the breath of God breathes in my nostrils,

4 my lips will never speak evil nor my tongue utter any lie.

5 Far from admitting you to be in the right, I shall maintain my integrity to my dying day.

6 I take my stand on my uprightness, I shall not stir: in my heart I need not be ashamed of my days.

7 Let my enemy meet the fate of the wicked, my adversary, the lot of the evil-doer!

8 For what hope does the godless have when he prays and raises his soul to God?

9 Is God likely to hear his cries when disaster descends on him?

10 Did he make Shaddai all his delight, calling on him at every turn?

11 But I am showing you the way that God works, making no secret of Shaddai’s designs.

12 And if you had all understood them for yourselves, you would not have wasted your breath in empty words.

13 This is the fate that God assigns to the wicked, the inheritance that the violent receive from Shaddai.

14 Though he have many children, it is but for the sword; his descendants will never have enough to eat.

15 Plague will bury those he leaves behind him, and their widows will have no chance to mourn them.

16 Though he amass silver like dust and gather fine clothes like clay,

17 let him gather!-some good man will wear them, while his silver is shared among the upright.

18 All he has built himself is a spider’s web, made himself a watchman’s shack.

19 He goes to bed rich, but never again: he wakes to find it has all gone

20 Terror assails him in broad daylight, and at night a whirlwind sweeps him off.

21 An east wind picks him up and drags him away, snatching him up from his homestead.

22 Pitilessly he is turned into a target, and forced to flee from the hands that menace him.

23 His downfall is greeted with applause, he is hissed wherever he goes.

24 He had his time of glory, now he vanishes, wilting like the saltwort once it is picked, and withering like an ear of corn.