Job 17
1 “My spirit is broken; my days are extinguished; the grave awaits me.
Mi spirit schal be maad feble; my daies schulen be maad schort, and oneli the sepulcre is left to me.
2 Surely mockers surround me, and my eyes must gaze at their rebellion.
Y have not synned, and myn iye dwellith in bittirnessis.
3 Give me, I pray, the pledge You demand. Who else will be my guarantor?
Lord, delyuere thou me, and sette thou me bisidis thee; and the hond of ech fiyte ayens me.
4 You have closed their minds to understanding; therefore You will not exalt them.
Thou hast maad the herte of hem fer fro doctryn, `ethir knowyng of treuthe; therfor thei schulen not be enhaunsid.
5 If a man denounces his friends for a price, the eyes of his children will fail.
He bihetith prey to felowis, and the iyen of hise sones schulen faile.
6 He has made me a byword among the people, a man in whose face they spit.
He hath set as in to a prouerbe of the comyn puple, and his saumple bifor hem.
7 My eyes have grown dim with grief, and my whole body is but a shadow.
Myn `iye dasewide at indignacioun; and my membris ben dryuun as in to nouyt.
8 The upright are appalled at this, and the innocent are stirred against the godless.
Iust men schulen wondre on this thing; and an innocent schal be reisid ayens an ypocrite.
9 Yet a righteous one holds to his way, and the one with clean hands grows stronger.
And a iust man schal holde his weie, and he schal adde strengthe to clene hondis.
10 But come back and try again, all of you. For I will not find a wise man among you.
Therfor alle `ye be conuertid, and come ye; and Y schal not fynde in you ony wiys man.
11 My days have passed; my plans are broken off— even the desires of my heart.
My daies ben passid; my thouytis ben scaterid, turmentynge myn herte.
12 They have turned night into day, making light seem near in the face of darkness.
Tho han turned the nyyt `in to day; and eft aftir derknessis hope liyt.
If Y `susteyne, ether suffre pacientli, helle is myn hous; and Y haue arayede my bed in derknessis. (Sheol h7585)
14 and say to corruption, ‘You are my father,’ and to the worm, ‘My mother,’ or ‘My sister,’
Y seide to rot, Thou art my fadur; and to wormes, Ye ben my modir and my sister.
15 where then is my hope? Who can see any hope for me?
Therfor where is now myn abidyng? and who biholdith my pacience?
