Job 101 My soul is disgusted with my life; I will give free vent to my complaint over myself; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul. 2 I will say unto God, Do not condemn me; let me know for what cause thou contendest against me. 3 Is it well for thee that thou shouldst oppress, that thou shouldst reject the labor of thy hands, and shed light upon the counsel of the wicked? 4 Hast thou eyes of flesh? or wilt thou see as a mortal seeth? 5 Are thy days as the days of a mortal, or are thy years as the days of a man, 6 That thou inquirest after my iniquity, and searchest after my sin? 7 Still it is within thy knowledge that I am not wicked, and there is none that can deliver me out of thy hand. 8 Thy hands have carefully fashioned me and made me; every thing is in harmony all round about; and yet thou dost destroy me! 9 Remember, I beseech thee, that as though I were clay hast thou made me; and wilt thou cause me to return again unto the dust? 10 Behold, like milk didst thou pour me out, and like cheese didst thou curdle me. 11 With skin and flesh didst thou clothe me, and with bones and sinews didst thou cover me. 12 Life and kindness didst thou grant me, and thy providence watched over my spirit. 13 And yet these things hadst thou treasured up in thy heart: I know that this was resolved within thee. 14 If I have sinned, then dost thou watch me, and from my iniquity thou wilt not declare me guiltless. 15 If I be wicked, woe unto me: and if I be righteous, I can still not lift up my head; I am sated with disgrace, and ever seeing my affliction; 16 And it constantly increaseth; like a fierce lion dost thou hunt for me; and again thou showest thyself continually wonderful on me; 17 Thou ever renewest thy witnesses against me, and causest thy indignation to grow strong against me; changes and multitudes of sufferings are around me. 18 Wherefore then didst thou bring me forth out of the womb? Oh that I had perished, and that no eye had seen me! 19 That I were as though I had not been,—had been borne from the womb to the grave. 20 Lo! my days are but few: cease, then, withdraw from me thy hand, that I may recover my cheerfulness a little. 21 Before I go, and return not, to the land of darkness and the shadow of death, 22 A land of utter gloom, as of the darkness of the shadow of death, without any order, and the light of which is like utter gloom.
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