Job 30:16-31 - সমস্ত সংস্করণ তুলনা করুন

শেয়ার

“And now my life ebbs away; days of suffering grip me. Night pierces my bones; my gnawing pains never rest. In his great power God becomes like clothing to me; he binds me like the neck of my garment. He throws me into the mud, and I am reduced to dust and ashes. “I cry out to you, God, but you do not answer; I stand up, but you merely look at me. You turn on me ruthlessly; with the might of your hand you attack me. You snatch me up and drive me before the wind; you toss me about in the storm. I know you will bring me down to death, to the place appointed for all the living. “Surely no one lays a hand on a broken man when he cries for help in his distress. Have I not wept for those in trouble? Has not my soul grieved for the poor? Yet when I hoped for good, evil came; when I looked for light, then came darkness. The churning inside me never stops; days of suffering confront me. I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. I have become a brother of jackals, a companion of owls. My skin grows black and peels; my body burns with fever. My lyre is tuned to mourning, and my pipe to the sound of wailing.

“And now my soul is poured out within me; days of affliction have taken hold of me. The night racks my bones, and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest. With great force my garment is disfigured; it binds me about like the collar of my tunic. God has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes. I cry to you for help and you do not answer me; I stand, and you only look at me. You have turned cruel to me; with the might of your hand you persecute me. You lift me up on the wind; you make me ride on it, and you toss me about in the roar of the storm. For I know that you will bring me to death and to the house appointed for all living. “Yet does not one in a heap of ruins stretch out his hand, and in his disaster cry for help? Did not I weep for him whose day was hard? Was not my soul grieved for the needy? But when I hoped for good, evil came, and when I waited for light, darkness came. My inward parts are in turmoil and never still; days of affliction come to meet me. I go about darkened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. I am a brother of jackals and a companion of ostriches. My skin turns black and falls from me, and my bones burn with heat. My lyre is turned to mourning, and my pipe to the voice of those who weep.

“And now my life seeps away. Depression haunts my days. At night my bones are filled with pain, which gnaws at me relentlessly. With a strong hand, God grabs my shirt. He grips me by the collar of my coat. He has thrown me into the mud. I’m nothing more than dust and ashes. “I cry to you, O God, but you don’t answer. I stand before you, but you don’t even look. You have become cruel toward me. You use your power to persecute me. You throw me into the whirlwind and destroy me in the storm. And I know you are sending me to my death— the destination of all who live. “Surely no one would turn against the needy when they cry for help in their trouble. Did I not weep for those in trouble? Was I not deeply grieved for the needy? So I looked for good, but evil came instead. I waited for the light, but darkness fell. My heart is troubled and restless. Days of suffering torment me. I walk in gloom, without sunlight. I stand in the public square and cry for help. Instead, I am considered a brother to jackals and a companion to owls. My skin has turned dark, and my bones burn with fever. My harp plays sad music, and my flute accompanies those who weep.

Now my life is poured out before me, and days of suffering  have seized me. Night pierces my bones, but my gnawing pains never rest.  My clothing is distorted with great force; he chokes me by the neck of my garment.  He throws me into the mud, and I have become like dust and ashes.  I cry out to you for help, but you do not answer me;  when I stand up, you merely look at me. You have turned against me with cruelty; you harass  me with your strong hand. You lift me up on the wind and make me ride it; you scatter me in the storm.  Yes, I know that you will lead me to death — the place  appointed for all who live. Yet no one would stretch out his hand against a ruined person  when he cries out to him for help because of his distress.  Have I not wept for those who have fallen on hard times? Has my soul not grieved for the needy?  But when I hoped for good, evil came; when I looked for light, darkness   came. I am churning within  and cannot rest; days of suffering confront me. I walk about blackened, but not by the sun.  I stood in the assembly and cried out for help. I have become a brother to jackals and a companion of ostriches. My skin blackens and flakes off,  and my bones burn with fever.  My lyre is used for mourning and my flute for the sound of weeping.

And now my soul is poured out upon me; The days of affliction have taken hold upon me. My bones are pierced in me in the night season: And my sinews take no rest. By the great force of my disease is my garment changed: It bindeth me about as the collar of my coat. He hath cast me into the mire, And I am become like dust and ashes. I cry unto thee, and thou dost not hear me: I stand up, and thou regardest me not. Thou art become cruel to me: With thy strong hand thou opposest thyself against me. Thou liftest me up to the wind; thou causest me to ride upon it, And dissolvest my substance. For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, And to the house appointed for all living. Howbeit he will not stretch out his hand to the grave, Though they cry in his destruction. Did not I weep for him that was in trouble? Was not my soul grieved for the poor? When I looked for good, then evil came unto me: And when I waited for light, there came darkness. My bowels boiled, and rested not: The days of affliction prevented me. I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation. I am a brother to dragons, And a companion to owls. My skin is black upon me, And my bones are burned with heat. My harp also is turned to mourning, And my organ into the voice of them that weep.

“And now my soul is poured out because of my plight; The days of affliction take hold of me. My bones are pierced in me at night, And my gnawing pains take no rest. By great force my garment is disfigured; It binds me about as the collar of my coat. He has cast me into the mire, And I have become like dust and ashes. “I cry out to You, but You do not answer me; I stand up, and You regard me. But You have become cruel to me; With the strength of Your hand You oppose me. You lift me up to the wind and cause me to ride on it; You spoil my success. For I know that You will bring me to death, And to the house appointed for all living. “Surely He would not stretch out His hand against a heap of ruins, If they cry out when He destroys it. Have I not wept for him who was in trouble? Has not my soul grieved for the poor? But when I looked for good, evil came to me; And when I waited for light, then came darkness. My heart is in turmoil and cannot rest; Days of affliction confront me. I go about mourning, but not in the sun; I stand up in the assembly and cry out for help. I am a brother of jackals, And a companion of ostriches. My skin grows black and falls from me; My bones burn with fever. My harp is turned to mourning, And my flute to the voice of those who weep.

“And now my life drains out, as suffering seizes and grips me hard. Night gnaws at my bones; the pain never lets up. I am tied hand and foot, my neck in a noose. I twist and turn. Thrown facedown in the muck, I’m a muddy mess, inside and out. “I shout for help, God, and get nothing, no answer! I stand to face you in protest, and you give me a blank stare! You’ve turned into my tormenter— you slap me around, knock me about. You raised me up so I was riding high and then dropped me, and I crashed. I know you’re determined to kill me, to put me six feet under. “What did I do to deserve this? Did I ever hit anyone who was calling for help? Haven’t I wept for those who live a hard life, been heartsick over the lot of the poor? But where did it get me? I expected good but evil showed up. I looked for light but darkness fell. My stomach’s in a constant churning, never settles down. Each day confronts me with more suffering. I walk under a black cloud. The sun is gone. I stand in the congregation and protest. I howl with the jackals, I hoot with the owls. I’m black-and-blue all over, burning up with fever. My fiddle plays nothing but the blues; my mouth harp wails laments.”

¶“And now my soul is poured out within me; Days of misery have seized me. “At night it pierces my bones within me, And my gnawing pains do not rest. “By a great force my garment is distorted; It ties me up like the collar of my coat. “He has thrown me into the mire, And I have become like dust and ashes. “I cry out to You for help, but You do not answer me; I stand up, and You turn Your attention against me. “You have become cruel to me; With the strength of Your hand You persecute me. “You lift me up to the wind and make me ride it; And You dissolve me in a storm. “For I know that You will bring me to death, And to the house of meeting for all living. ¶“Yet does one in a heap of ruins not reach out with his hand, Or in his disaster does he not cry out for help? “Have I not wept for the one whose life is hard? Was my soul not grieved for the needy? “When I expected good, evil came; When I waited for light, darkness came. “I am seething within and cannot rest; Days of misery confront me. “I go about mourning without comfort; I stand up in the assembly and cry out for help. “I have become a brother to jackals, And a companion of ostriches. “My skin turns black on me, And my bones burn with fever. “Therefore my harp is turned to mourning, And my flute to the sound of those who weep.

¶“And now my soul is poured out within me; The days of affliction have seized me. “My bones are pierced [with aching] in the night season, And the pains that gnaw me take no rest. “By the great force [of my disease] my garment (skin) is disfigured and blemished; It binds about me [choking me] like the collar of my coat. “God has cast me into the mire [a swampland of crisis], And I have become [worthless] like dust and ashes. “I cry to You for help, [Lord,] but You do not answer me; I stand up, but You [only] gaze [indifferently] at me. “You have become harsh and cruel to me; With the might of Your hand You [keep me alive only to] persecute me. “You lift me up on the wind and cause me to ride [upon it]; And You toss me about in the tempest and dissolve me in the storm. “For I know that You will bring me to death And to the house of meeting [appointed] for all the living. ¶“However, does not one falling in a heap of ruins stretch out his hand? Or in his disaster [will he not] therefore cry out for help? “Did I not weep for one whose life was hard and filled with trouble? Was not my heart grieved for the needy? “When I expected good, then came evil [to me]; And when I waited for light, then came darkness. “I am seething within and my heart is troubled and cannot rest; Days of affliction come to meet me. “I go about mourning without comfort [my skin blackened by disease, not by the heat of the sun]; I stand up in the assembly and cry out for help. “I am a brother to [howling] jackals, And a companion to ostriches [which scream dismally]. “My skin falls from me in blackened flakes, And my bones are burned with fever. “Therefore my lyre (harp) is used for [the sound of] mourning, And my flute for the [sound of the] voices of those who weep.

“And now my soul pours itself out within me; days of suffering take hold of me. Night pierces my bones; my gnawing pains never cease. With great power God grasps my clothing; he binds me like the collar of my tunic. He has flung me into the mud, and I have come to resemble dust and ashes. I cry out to you, but you do not answer me; I stand up, and you only look at me. You have become cruel to me; with the strength of your hand you attack me. You pick me up on the wind and make me ride on it; you toss me about in the storm. I know that you are bringing me to death, to the meeting place for all the living. “Surely one does not stretch out his hand against a broken man when he cries for help in his distress. Have I not wept for the unfortunate? Was not my soul grieved for the poor? But when I hoped for good, trouble came; when I expected light, then darkness came. My heart is in turmoil unceasingly; the days of my affliction confront me. I go about blackened, but not by the sun; in the assembly I stand up and cry for help. I have become a brother to jackals and a companion of ostriches. My skin has turned dark on me; my body is hot with fever. My harp is used for mourning and my flute for the sound of weeping.