Job 30:1-15

“But now those younger than I mock me, Whose fathers I disdained to put with the dogs of my flock. Indeed, what good was the strength of their hands to me? Vigor had perished from them. From want and famine they are gaunt Who gnaw the dry ground by night in waste and desolation, Who pluck mallow by the bushes, And whose food is the root of the broom shrub. They are driven from the community; They shout against them as against a thief, So that they dwell in dreadful valleys, In holes of the earth and of the rocks. Among the bushes they cry out; Under the nettles they are gathered together. Fools, even those without a name, They were scourged from the land. “And now I have become their taunt, I have even become a byword to them. They abhor me and stand aloof from me, And they do not refrain from spitting at my face. Because He has loosed His bowstring and afflicted me, They have cast off the bridle before me. On the right hand their brood arises; They thrust aside my feet and build up against me their ways of destruction. They break up my path, They profit from my destruction; No one restrains them. As through a wide breach they come, Amid the tempest they roll on. Terrors are turned against me; They pursue my honor as the wind, And my prosperity has passed away like a cloud.