Chapter 6

But Job answered:

Oh that I had such a pair of scales as might weigh provocation of mine against the ills I suffer!

The sand on the shore of ocean could not match the burden of them, and do you wonder that my utterance is all reproach?

Deep the Lord’s arrows rankle in me, draining my life; all his terrors are arrayed against me.

Brays the wild ass, be sure he lacks pasture; lows the ox, he stands before an empty crib.

Would you have me relish food unseasoned, lick my lips over the taste that brings death?

The food I had no stomach for, in my hard straits eat I must.

Might it be granted, this is the boon I long for, this the request I would make of God,

that he would finish what he has begun, crush me altogether, strike a full blow and make an end of me!

Consolation enough, if he will but torment me to my death; no repining, then, against his will!

In what strength should I hold out? In what hope repose?

Have I the endurance of flint? Is my flesh brass?

Help in myself is none; human aid keeps its distance from me now.

Nay, who defies the Lord’s vengeance more surely than friend who refuses compassion to a friend?

See how the men that are my brothers have failed me, fickle as the mountain brooks that run headlong down their ravines;

first shrivelled with frost, then piled high with snow,

then, when the snows melt, gone, vanished away at the first touch of the heat!

This way and that their winding channels turn, but all to no purpose, all are lost to view.

They must take heed, now, that would pass by Thema, and travel into Saba; they must wait awhile on their journey.

Some hope I had in my friends, but all is disappointment; with eyes that will not meet mine, they come to visit me.

Ay, you have come, but finding me so sorely smitten you dread my company.

It was little enough I asked; I never bade you diminish your own wealth by bringing gifts to me,

never begged your aid to rid me of some enemy that was too strong for me.

Come, be my instructors; I will hear you out in silence; tell me what is the fault I have committed, all unknowing?

Ill fare the claims of truth with such as you; not one of you can shew me in the wrong,

yet for very love of reproof you must be reproving still, all your words wasted on the air.

Is it well done, to make a prey of the defenceless, to conspire against the good name of your friend?

Browbeat me, then, at your pleasure; try if close scrutiny can prove me false;

only let there be no contentiousness in your pleadings; in all honesty bring your complaint.

You will not fasten guilt on any word of mine; reckless utterance never these lips shall frame.