Job 17

DOUAI-RHEIMS	NEW JERUSALEM
1 My spirit shall be wasted, my days shall be shortened, and only the grave remaineth for me.	1 My breathing is growing weaker and the gravediggers are gathering for me.
2 I have not sinned, and my eye abideth in bitterness.	2 Scoffers are my only companions, their harshness haunts my nights.
3 Deliver me O Lord, and set me beside thee, and let any man's hand fight against me.	3 So you must go bail for me to yourself, for which of them cares to clap his hand on mine?
4 Thou hast set their heart far from understanding, therefore they shall not be exalted.	4 For you have shut their hearts to reason, hence not a hand is lifted.
5 He promiseth a prey to his companions, and the eyes of his children shall fail.	5 Just so is a man who invites his friends to share his property while the eyes of his own childrenlanguish.
6 He hath made me as it were a byword of the people, and I am an example before them.	6 I have become a byword among foreigners, and a creature on whose face to spit,
7 My eye is dim through indignation, and my limbs are brought as it were to nothing.	7 since I am nearly blind with grief and my limbs are reduced to a shadow.
8 The just shall be astonished at this, and the innocent shall be raised up against the hypocrite.	8 Any honest person is appal ed at the sight, the innocent is indignant at the sinner.
9 And the just man shall hold on his way, and he that hath clean hands shall be stronger and stronger.	9 Anyone upright grows stronger step by step: and anyone whose hands are clean grows ever in vigour!
10 Wherefore be you all converted, and come, and I shall not find among you any wise man.	10 Come on then, al of you, back to the attack! I shall not find one wise man among you!
11 My days have passed away, my thoughts are dissipated, tormenting my heart.	11 My days are over, so are my plans, my heart-strings are broken;
12 They have turned night into day, and after darkness I hope for light again.	12 yet they would have me believe that night is day, that light to dispel the darkness is at hand,
13 If I wait hell is my house, and I have made my bed in darkness.	13 when al I want, in fact, is to dwel in Sheol and in that darkness there to make my bed!
14 If I have said to rottenness: Thou art my father; to worms, my mother and my sister.	14 To the tomb, I cry, 'You are my father!' -- to the worm, 'You are my mother-you, my sister!'
15 Where is now then my expectation, and who considereth my patience?	15 Where then is my hope? Who can see any happiness for me?
16 All that I have shall go down into the deepest pit: thinkest thou that there at least I shall have rest?	16 unless they come down to Sheol with me, all of us sinking into the dust together?