Book of Job - Ferrar Fenton Bible Translation page 837
The Psalms, Solomon and Sacred Writers
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Amd my turban has thrown from my head ; T hat He breaks me wherever I go, And has pulled up my hopes like a tree; T hat He kindled His fury at mc, That He treats me as one of His foes, For His troops come advancing in mass, Their rampart against me they pile, And encamping, encompass my hall! My kinsmen have Hown far away, My companions are scattered abroad, They cease to approach, and forget; My guests and my maids think me strange, They forget; I’m·unknown in their sight! My lad replies not if I call To him I must soften my voice! And my feelings are strange to my wife, And I plead to the sons of my breast; Even children regard me with scorn, When I rise up they ridicule me; I am loathed by my intimate friends And those whom I loved turn away; My bones pierce my skin and my Hesh, I possess but the skin of my teeth! Oh pity me! pity me, friends! For GOD’s hand is heavy on me ! Like GOD would you persecute me, Unsatished yet with my flesh? I0 I! 12 16 18 21 22 Who will help me to write out my tale P Who will help to record in a book? Or with pen made of iron, on lead, Or cut deep on a rock for all time? For I know my Defender exists. And at last will stand over my dust, And after this skin is destroyed I shall yet in my flesh gaze on GODl Whom I shall gaze on for myself, Mine eyes see Himself,—·not another, Fulfilling the hopes of my breast! Why did we pursue When the root of the fact he had found ?’ And you tremble yourselves at the sword, For the sword is the fear of the bad, When at last you discover my judge! dbz 52mnh Qhhrzza nf Znplyur. Zophar the Namathite, however, answered, and said: Because I am driven by my mind, And I rush from the passion within, Having heard an insulting reproof I answer with spirited thought. Know you not this from of old, Since Adam was placed upon earth, That the triumph of sinners is short And the joys of the vile but an hour? If he goes up as high as the skies And his head reaches up to the clouds, Like his dung he will perish for ever; 2820
Where is he ?' He will fly like a dream, nor be found, And vanish like visions at night. An eye·glance,———for it is no more, 837
