Job 16:6
If I speak, my pain is not restrained, And I cease -- what goeth from me?
If I speak, my pain is not restrained, And I cease -- what goeth from me?
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2I have heard many such things, Miserable comforters `are' ye all.
3Is there an end to words of wind? Or what doth embolden thee that thou answerest?
4I also, like you, might speak, If your soul were in my soul's stead. I might join against you with words, And nod at you with my head.
5I might harden you with my mouth, And the moving of my lips might be sparing.
8O that my request may come, That God may grant my hope!
9That God would please -- and bruise me, Loose His hand and cut me off!
10And yet it is my comfort, (And I exult in pain -- He doth not spare,) That I have not hidden The sayings of the Holy One.
11What `is' my power that I should hope? And what mine end That I should prolong my life?
7Only, now, it hath wearied me; Thou hast desolated all my company,
11Also I -- I withhold not my mouth -- I speak in the distress of my spirit, I talk in the bitterness of my soul.
27Though I say, `I forget my talking, I forsake my corner, and I brighten up!'
18My refreshing for me `is' sorrow, For me my heart `is' sick.
19Who `is' he that doth strive with me? For now I keep silent and gasp.
20Are not my days few? Cease then, and put from me, And I brighten up a little,
4I -- to man `is' my complaint? and if `so', wherefore May not my temper become short?
15-- What do I say? seeing He said to me, And He Himself hath wrought, I go softly all my years for the bitterness of my soul.
2I was dumb `with' silence, I kept silent from good, and my pain is excited.
1My soul hath been weary of my life, I leave off my talking to myself, I speak in the bitterness of my soul.
13Is not my help with me, And substance driven from me?
2O that my provocation were thoroughly weighed, And my calamity in balances They would lift up together!
3For now, than the sands of the sea it is heavier, Therefore my words have been rash.
15Sackcloth I have sewed on my skin, And have rolled in the dust my horn.
16My face is foul with weeping, And on mine eyelids `is' death-shade.
2Also -- to-day `is' my complaint bitter, My hand hath been heavy because of my sighing.
13Keep silent from me, and I speak, And pass over me doth what?
17For I am ready to halt, And my pain `is' before me continually.
6I have been weary with my sighing, I meditate through all the night `on' my bed, With my tear my couch I waste.
16And now, in me my soul poureth itself out, Seize me do days of affliction.
18He permitteth me not to refresh my spirit, But filleth me with bitter things.
24For before my food, my sighing cometh, And poured out as waters `are' my roarings.
3When I have kept silence, become old have my bones, Through my roaring all the day.
10For my life hath been consumed in sorrow And my years in sighing. Feeble because of mine iniquity hath been my strength, And my bones have become old.
19Wo to me for my breaking, Grievious hath been my smiting, And I said, Only, this `is' my sickness, and I bear it.
3`Thou hast said, Wo to me, now, for Jehovah hath added sorrow to my pain, I have been wearied with my sighing, and rest I have not found.
2Till when do ye afflict my soul, And bruise me with words?
20I speak, and there is refreshment to me, I open my lips and answer.
8I have been feeble and smitten -- unto excess, I have roared from disquietude of heart.
16To my servant I have called, And he doth not answer, With my mouth I make supplication to him.
4And my spirit in me is become feeble, Within me is my heart become desolate.
13When I said, `My bed doth comfort me,' He taketh away in my talking my couch.
17And Thou castest off from peace my soul, I have forgotten prosperity.
16For these I am weeping, My eye, my eye, is running down with waters, For, far from me hath been a comforter, Refreshing my soul, My sons have been desolate, For mighty hath been an enemy.
15If I have said, `I recount thus,' Lo, a generation of Thy sons I have deceived.
16And I think to know this, Perverseness it `is' in mine eyes,
2Hath one tried a word with thee? -- Thou art weary! And to keep in words who is able?
6I have been bent down, I have been bowed down -- unto excess, All the day I have gone mourning.
15Lo, He doth slay me -- I wait not! Only, my ways unto His face I argue.
3And my soul hath been troubled greatly, And Thou, O Jehovah, till when?
18Why hath my pain been perpetual? And my wound incurable? It hath refused to be healed, Thou art surely to me as a failing stream, Waters not stedfast.
27My bowels have boiled, and have not ceased, Gone before me have days of affliction.