Job 6:4
For arrows of the Mighty `are' with me, Whose poison is drinking up my spirit. Terrors of God array themselves `for' me!
For arrows of the Mighty `are' with me, Whose poison is drinking up my spirit. Terrors of God array themselves `for' me!
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12At ease I have been, and he breaketh me, And he hath laid hold on my neck, And he breaketh me in pieces, And he raiseth me to him for a mark.
13Go round against me do his archers. He splitteth my reins, and spareth not, He poureth out to the earth my gall.
14He breaketh me -- breach upon breach, He runneth upon me as a mighty one.
2For Thine arrows have come down on me, And Thou lettest down upon me Thy hand.
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.
11My ways He is turning aside, and He pulleth me in pieces, He hath made me a desolation.
12He hath trodden His bow, And setteth me up as a mark for an arrow.
13He hath caused to enter into my reins The sons of His quiver.
4My heart is pained within me, And terrors of death have fallen on me.
5Fear and trembling come in to me, And horror doth cover me.
4Sharp arrows of a mighty one, with broom-coals.
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.
16And God hath made my heart soft, And the Mighty hath troubled me.
4And my spirit in me is become feeble, Within me is my heart become desolate.
13From above He hath sent fire into my bone, And it subdueth it, He hath spread a net for my feet, He hath turned me backward, He hath made me desolate -- all the day sick.
13Is not my help with me, And substance driven from me?
18He permitteth me not to refresh my spirit, But filleth me with bitter things.
16Over me hath Thy wrath passed, Thy terrors have cut me off,
14Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth? And my soul put in my hand?
15He hath turned against me terrors, It pursueth as the wind mine abundance, And as a thick cloud, Hath my safety passed away.
16And now, in me my soul poureth itself out, Seize me do days of affliction.
23For a dread unto me `is' calamity `from' God, And because of His excellency I am not able.
4I -- to man `is' my complaint? and if `so', wherefore May not my temper become short?
11Also I -- I withhold not my mouth -- I speak in the distress of my spirit, I talk in the bitterness of my soul.
6Know now, that God turned me upside down, And His net against me hath set round,
34He doth turn aside from off me his rod, And His terror doth not make me afraid,
6The cords of Sheol have surrounded me, Before me have been the snares of death.
15He hath filled me with bitter things, He hath filled me `with' wormwood.
24For before my food, my sighing cometh, And poured out as waters `are' my roarings.
25For a fear I feared and it meeteth me, And what I was afraid of doth come to me.
1My soul hath been weary of my life, I leave off my talking to myself, I speak in the bitterness of my soul.
4He hath worn out my flesh and my skin. He hath broken my bones.
5He hath built up against me, And setteth round poverty and weariness.
6In dark places He hath caused me to dwell, As the dead of old.
1My spirit hath been destroyed, My days extinguished -- graves `are' for me.
11And He kindleth against me His anger, And reckoneth me to Him as His adversaries.
23I gather upon them evils, Mine arrows I consume upon them.
28The son of the bow doth not cause him to flee, Turned by him into stubble are stones of the sling.
4Compassed me have cords of death, And streams of the worthless make me afraid.
10Turn aside from off me Thy stroke, From the striving of Thy hand I have been consumed.
6Against my right do I lie? Mortal `is' mine arrow -- without transgression.'
10With a sword in my bones Have mine adversaries reproached me, In their saying unto me all the day, `Where `is' thy God?'
13Yea, for him He hath prepared Instruments of death, His arrows for burning pursuers He maketh.
24He fleeth from an iron weapon, Pass through him doth a bow of brass.
27My bowels have boiled, and have not ceased, Gone before me have days of affliction.
19Casting me into mire, And I am become like dust and ashes.
20See, O Jehovah, for distress `is' to me, My bowels have been troubled, Turned hath been my heart in my midst, For I have greatly provoked, From without bereaved hath the sword, In the house `it is' as death.
11He doth put in the stocks my feet, He doth watch all my paths.'