Job 30
1 But, now, they who are of fewer days than I, have poured derision upon me; whose fathers I refused—to set with the dogs of my flock.
Fe itsikihan-jaiko henaneo, ie tsy ho nimeiko hindrezan-droae’ iareo o amboan’ añondrikoo.
2 Even the strength of their hands, wherefore was it mine? Upon them, vigour was lost;
Eka! hataoko ino’ ty herin-taña’ iareo? Ie fa modo ty hagañ’oza’ iareo?
3 In want and hunger, they were lean, —who used to gnaw the dry ground, a dark night of desolation!
Miheahea naho poie’e vaho saliko iereo, draote’ iereo ty tane kànkañe ie nimontoñe naho tanan-taolo te omale.
4 Who used to pluck off the mallow by the bushes, with the root of the broom for their food;
Tsindrohe’ iereo ty aña-mafaitse miharo vahon-tsoy, fihina’iareo ty vahan-jañapoly.
5 Out of the midst, were they driven, men shouted after them, as after a thief;
Sinoik’ an-drolongo’e iareo, nikoraheñe hoe t’ie malaso.
6 In the fissures, of the ravines had they to dwell, in holes of dust and crags;
Aa le mimoneñe am-bavatane mampangebahebak’ ao iereo, an-dakatom-bato naho an-kadahan-tane ao.
7 Among the bushes, used they to shriek, Under the bramble, were they huddled together:
Mikoaike boak’an-drongoñe ao, mihimpok’ añ’antak’ ao.
8 Sons of the base, yea sons of the nameless, they were scourged out of the land.
Anan-dagola, anake po-tahinañe, nasiotsiotse amy taney.
9 But, now, their song, have I become, Yea I serve them for a byword;
Bekobekoe’ iareo iraho henaneo toe fandrabioña’ iareo.
10 They abhor me—have put themselves far from me, and, from my face, have not withheld—spittle!
Heje’ iereo vintañe, ihankaña’ iareo, tsy apo’ iareo ty mandrora an-tareheko.
11 Because, my girdle, he had loosened and had humbled me, therefore, the bridle—in my presence, cast they off;
Amy te navotso’e ty tàlem-pale’e le nitrofahe’e iraho, vaho ahifi’ iereo laboridy te miatrek’ ahy.
12 On my right hand, the young brood rose up, —My feet, they thrust aside, and cast up against me their earthworks of destruction;
Mitroatse an-kavanako eo o tora’eo; fehefehè’ iereo o tombokoo vaho atroa’ iareo amako ty satam- pandrotsaha’ iareo.
13 They brake up my path, —My engulfing ruin, they helped forward, unaided;
Trobotroboe’ iereo o lalakoo, indrà’ iareo amako o feh’ ohatseo, ndra t’ie tsy amam-pañolotse.
14 As through a wide breach, came they on, with a crashing noise, they rolled themselves along.
Mizilike hoe mb’an-jeba’e mitañataña ao iareo; Iboroboñafa’ iareo i rinotsakey le mikidiadia’ mb’etoy.
15 There are turned upon me terrors, —Chased away as with a wind, is mine abundance, and, as a cloud, hath passed away my prosperity.
Natolik’ amako o fampirevendreveñañeo; heañe’ iereo hoe tioke ty asiko; fa nihelañe añe hoe rahoñe ty fandrombahako.
16 Now, therefore, over myself, my soul poureth itself out, There seize me days of affliction:
Ie henaneo, fa nadoañe amako ato ty fiaiko; fa mifelek’ ahy o andro nanotriañe ahikoo.
17 Night, boreth, my bones, all over me, —and, my sinews, find no rest;
Tsipohe’e haleñe o taolakoo, vaho tsy mitofa ty fikotekotehañe ahy.
18 Most effectually, is my skin disfigured, —Like the collar of my tunic, it girdeth me about:
Mampiroñaroña o sikikoo i fañindra’e mafey vaho vihine’e iraho manahake i kolen’ akanjokoy.
19 He hath cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.
Fa navokovoko’e am-potak’ ao iraho, le ninjare hoe lavenoke naho deboke.
20 I cry out for help unto thee, and thou dost not answer, I stand still, and thou dost gaze at me;
Mikaik’ imba ama’o raho fe tsy toiñe’o; miongake fe angarefa’o.
21 Thou art turned to become a cruel one unto me, With the might of thy hand, thou assailest me;
Toe mpampisoañe ahy irehe: an-kaozaram-pità’o ty isareraha’o.
22 Thou liftest up me to the wind, thou carriest me away, and the storm maketh me faint;
Ampionjone’o mb’amy tiokey mb’eo, naho ampiningira’o, fe atrana’o amy tio-beiy.
23 For I know that, unto death, thou wilt bring me back, even unto the house of meeting for every one living.
Apotako t’ie hasese’o mb’an-kavetrahañe mb’eo, mb’añ’anjombam-pifañaoña’ ze kila veloñe.
24 Only, against a heap of ruins, will one not thrust a hand! Surely, when one is in calamity—for that very reason, is there an outcry for help.
Aa tsy hañity ty fità’e hao ty am-botrim-piantoañe eo? tsy hikoik’ imba hao t’ie mizò hekoheko?
25 Verily I wept, for him whose lot was hard, Grieved was my soul, for the needy.
Tsy nitañiako hao ty nian-kòheke? Tsy nampihontoke ty troko hao o rarakeo?
26 Surely, for good, I looked, but there came in evil, And I waited for light, but there came in darkness;
Izaho nitama hasoa, pok’eo ty raty; ie nandiñe hazavàñe nihohohe’ ty ieñe.
27 I boiled within me, and rested not, There confronted me—days of affliction;
Mikokèntrekokèntreñe ty añovako ao le tsy mitofa; atreatrén-tsan-kasotriañe.
28 In gloom, I walked along, without sun, I arose—in the convocation, I cried out for help;
Mijarabajaraba añ’ ieñe ao tsy amam-panjirik’ andro, miongak’ am-pivory naho mikaik’ imba.
29 A brother, became I to the brutes that howl, and a companion to the birds that screech:
Fa rahalahim-panaloke iraho, rañe’ o voron-tsatrañeo.
30 My skin, turned black, and peeled off me, and, my bones, burned with heat:
Mikò-mainte amako ty holiko, mitsovovoke o taolakoo ami’ty hasilo’e.
31 Thus is attuned to mourning—my lyre, and my flute, to the noise of them who weep.
Aa le mivali-ko feon-kontoke ty marovaniko, naho feom-pandala ty soliko
