Chapter 16

But Job answered:

Old tales and cold comfort; you are all alike.

Words are but wind; there is no end to them, and they cost thee nothing.

Believe me, I could do as well, were you in my case,

talk the language of consolation, and mock you all the while,

speak of encouragement; my lips should tremble with a show of pity.

But here is grief words cannot assuage, nor silence banish;

grief that bows me down till my whole frame is lifeless;

these furrowed cheeks are the witness of it. And now a false accuser dares me to my face and baits me!

One that vents all his spite against me, gnashes his teeth malignantly, watches me with fierce eyes like an enemy.

Mouths that deride me, hands that smite me on the cheek in reproof, hearts that delight in my anguish,

to what ill neighbourhood God has condemned me, what tyrants hold me in their grip!

So free from care my life was, and now, suddenly as though a wild beast had fastened on me, dashed me to the ground, he has broken that life to pieces. I am a mark for his archery,

his arrows are all about me; still they pierce me to the marrow, drain my life,

wound upon wound; giant hands assail me.

No wonder if I go clad in sackcloth, disfigured with ashes,

if my face is swollen with weeping, and on my eyelids the darkness falls.

Such is the reward of a guiltless life, of prayer offered without stain.

I charge thee, earth, to leave my blood unburied, never to muffle the echoes of my protest;

there is one in high heaven that knows the truth and must bear witness.

Friends, prate on; these tears of mine issue their challenge to a God!

Ah, could but a mortal bring God to justice, as man impleads man!

Mortal am I; swiftly my years pass, and by the road I tread there is no returning.