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Young's Literal Version » Job » 13. fejezet
1
Lo, all -- hath mine eye seen, Heard hath mine ear, and it attendeth to it.
2
According to your knowledge I have known -- also I. I am not fallen more than you.
3
Yet I for the Mighty One do speak, And to argue for God I delight.
4
And yet, ye `are' forgers of falsehood, Physicians of nought -- all of you,
5
O that ye would keep perfectly silent, And it would be to you for wisdom.
6
Hear, I pray you, my argument, And to the pleadings of my lips attend,
7
For God do ye speak perverseness? And for Him do ye speak deceit?
8
His face do ye accept, if for God ye strive?
9
Is `it' good that He doth search you, If, as one mocketh at a man, ye mock at Him?
10
He doth surely reprove you, if in secret ye accept faces.
11
Doth not His excellency terrify you? And His dread fall upon you?
12
Your remembrances `are' similes of ashes, For high places of clay your heights.
13
Keep silent from me, and I speak, And pass over me doth what?
14
Wherefore do I take my flesh in my teeth? And my soul put in my hand?
15
Lo, He doth slay me -- I wait not! Only, my ways unto His face I argue.
16
Also -- He `is' to me for salvation, For the profane cometh not before Him.
17
Hear ye diligently my word, And my declaration with your ears.
18
Lo, I pray you, I have set in order the cause, I have known that I am righteous.
19
Who `is' he that doth strive with me? For now I keep silent and gasp.
20
Only two things, O God, do with me: Then from Thy face I am not hidden.
21
Thy hand put far off from me, And Thy terror let not terrify me.
22
And call Thou, and I -- I answer, Or -- I speak, and answer Thou me.
23
How many iniquities and sins have I? My transgression and my sin let me know.
24
Why dost Thou hide Thy face? And reckonest me for an enemy to Thee?
25
A leaf driven away dost Thou terrify? And the dry stubble dost Thou pursue?
26
For Thou writest against me bitter things, And causest me to possess iniquities of my youth:
27
And puttest in the stocks my feet, And observest all my paths, On the roots of my feet Thou settest a print,
28
And he, as a rotten thing, weareth away, As a garment hath a moth consumed him.