Job 17
1 My spirit is crushed; my life is extinguished; the grave is ready for me.
My breath is corrupt: my dayes are cut off, and the graue is readie for me.
2 Mockers surround me. I see how bitterly they ridicule me.
There are none but mockers with mee, and mine eye continueth in their bitternesse.
3 God, you need to put down a pledge for me with yourself, for who else will be my guarantor?
Lay downe nowe and put me in suretie for thee: who is hee, that will touch mine hand?
4 You have closed their minds to understanding, so do not let them win!
For thou hast hid their heart from vnderstanding: therefore shalt thou not set them vp on hie.
5 They betray friends to gain benefit for themselves and their children suffer for it.
For the eyes of his children shall faile, that speaketh flattery to his friends.
6 He has made me a proverb of ridicule among the people; they spit in my face.
Hee hath also made mee a byword of the people, and I am as a Tabret before them.
7 My eyes are worn out from crying and my body is a shadow of its former self.
Mine eye therefore is dimme for griefe, and all my strength is like a shadowe.
8 People who think they are good are shocked to see me. Those who are innocent are troubled by the godless.
The righteous shalbe astonied at this, and the innocent shalbe moued against ye hypocrite.
9 Those who are right keep going, and those whose hands are clean grow stronger and stronger.
But the righteous wil holde his way, and he whose hands are pure, shall increase his strength.
10 Why don't you come back and repeat again what you've been saying?—yet I still won't find a wise man among you!
All you therefore turne you, and come nowe, and I shall not finde one wise among you.
11 My life is over. My plans are gone. My heart is broken.
My dayes are past, mine enterprises are broken, and the thoughts of mine heart
12 They turn night into day, and say that daylight is close to darkness.
Haue changed the nyght for the day, and the light that approched, for darkenesse.
Though I hope, yet the graue shall bee mine house, and I shall make my bed in the darke. (Sheol h7585)
14 Should I call the grave my father, and the maggot my mother or my sister?
I shall say to corruption, Thou art my father, and to the worme, Thou art my mother and my sister.
15 So then where is my hope? Can anyone see any hope for me?
Where is then now mine hope? or who shall consider the thing, that I hoped for?
