Job3

After enduring immense suffering, Job breaks his silence by cursing the day of his birth. He expresses a profound wish that he had never been born or had died immediately, desiring oblivion over his current misery. Job questions why life is granted to those who are bitter in soul and long for the grave, lamenting that his deepest fears have now come upon him.

Job Breaks His Silence

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After this hath Job opened his mouth, and revileth his day.
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And Job answereth and saith: --

Cursing the Day of Birth

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Let the day perish in which I am born, And the night that hath said: `A man-child hath been conceived.'
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That day--let it be darkness, Let not God require it from above, Nor let light shine upon it.
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Let darkness and death-shade redeem it, Let a cloud tabernacle upon it, Let them terrify it as the most bitter of days.
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That night--let thick darkness take it, Let it not be united to days of the year, Into the number of months let it not come.
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Lo! that night--let it be gloomy, Let no singing come into it.
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Let the cursers of day mark it, Who are ready to wake up Leviathan.
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Let the stars of its twilight be dark, Let it wait for light, and there is none, And let it not look on the eyelids of the dawn.
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Because it hath not shut the doors Of the womb that was mine! And hide misery from mine eyes.

The Desire for Rest in Death

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Why from the womb do I not die? From the belly I have come forth and gasp!
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Wherefore have knees been before me? And what are breasts, that I suck?
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For now, I have lain down, and am quiet, I have slept--then there is rest to me,
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With kings and counsellors of earth, These building wastes for themselves.
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Or with princes--they have gold, They are filling their houses with silver.
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(Or as a hidden abortion I am not, As infants--they have not seen light.)
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There the wicked have ceased troubling, And there rest do the wearied in power.
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Together prisoners have been at ease, They have not heard the voice of an exactor,
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Small and great are there the same. And a servant is free from his lord.

The Misery of Continued Existence

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Why giveth He to the miserable light, and life to the bitter soul?
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Who are waiting for death, and it is not, And they seek it above hid treasures.
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Who are glad--unto joy, They rejoice when they find a grave.
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To a man whose way hath been hidden, And whom God doth shut up?
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For before my food, my sighing cometh, And poured out as waters are my roarings.
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For a fear I feared and it meeteth me, And what I was afraid of doth come to me.
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I was not safe--nor was I quiet--Nor was I at rest--and trouble cometh!
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