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Young's Literal Version » Job » 27. fejezet
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And Job addeth to lift up his simile, and saith: --
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God liveth! He turned aside my judgment, And the Mighty -- He made my soul bitter.
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For all the while my breath `is' in me, And the spirit of God in my nostrils.
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My lips do not speak perverseness, And my tongue doth not utter deceit.
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Pollution to me -- if I justify you, Till I expire I turn not aside mine integrity from me.
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On my righteousness I have laid hold, And I do not let it go, My heart doth not reproach me while I live.
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As the wicked is my enemy, And my withstander as the perverse.
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For what `is' the hope of the profane, When He doth cut off? When God doth cast off his soul?
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His cry doth God hear, When distress cometh on him?
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On the Mighty doth he delight himself? Call God at all times?
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I shew you by the hand of God, That which `is' with the Mighty I hide not.
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Lo, ye -- all of you -- have seen, And why `is' this -- ye are altogether vain?
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This `is' the portion of wicked man with God, And the inheritance of terrible ones From the Mighty they receive.
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If his sons multiply -- for them `is' a sword. And his offspring `are' not satisfied `with' bread.
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His remnant in death are buried, And his widows do not weep.
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If he heap up as dust silver, And as clay prepare clothing,
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He prepareth -- and the righteous putteth `it' on, And the silver the innocent doth apportion.
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He hath built as a moth his house, And as a booth a watchman hath made.
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Rich he lieth down, and he is not gathered, His eyes he hath opened, and he is not.
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Overtake him as waters do terrors, By night stolen him away hath a whirlwind.
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Take him up doth an east wind, and he goeth, And it frighteneth him from his place,
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And it casteth at him, and doth not spare, From its hand he diligently fleeth.
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It clappeth at him its hands, And it hisseth at him from his place.