Библия - Иов - глава 30 - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

And now my juniors mock me, those whose fathers I would not have consented to place with the dogs of my flock.

And what good is the strength of their arms to me? Time has already passed for them.

Exhausted by poverty and hunger, they flee into the waterless, bleak, and desolate steppe;

they nibble the greenery near the bushes, and juniper berries are their bread.

They are driven from society, shouted at as thieves,

so that they may live in the ruts of streams, in the gorges of the earth and cliffs.

They roar among the bushes, cower under thorns.

Outcasts, nameless, the scum of the earth!

I have now become their song and the food of their conversation.

They abhor me, withdraw from me, and cannot refrain from spitting in my face. Because He loosed my reins and struck me, they threw off their bridles before my face.

This fiend rises from my right side, knocks me down, directs his destructive paths toward me.

And they have spoiled my path: they have managed to do everything for my destruction, without having a helper.

They came to me as through a wide breach; they rushed at me with a noise.

Terrors rushed upon me; my glory was scattered like the wind, and my happiness was carried away like a cloud.

And now my soul is poured out within me: days of sorrow have overwhelmed me.

My bones ache within me at night, and my sinews have no rest.

With great difficulty is my garment torn from me; the edges of my robe press upon me.

He has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes. I cry to You, but You do not heed me; I stand, and You only look at me.

You have become cruel to me; with a strong hand You war against me.

You have lifted me up and made me fly before the wind, and You crush me.

So I know that You will bring me to death, and to the meeting place of all the living.

Surely He will not stretch out His hand against the house of bones: will they cry out in their ruin?

Have I not wept for him who was in trouble? Has not my soul grieved for the poor?

When I hoped for good, evil came; when I looked for light, darkness came.

My insides boil and do not cease; days of sorrow have met me.

I go blackened, but not by the sun; I rise in the meeting place and cry out.

I have become a brother to jackals and a friend to ostriches. My skin turned black upon me, and my bones were scorched with heat.

And my harp became sad, and my flute a mournful voice.