Should this man be saved by his words,
acquitted because he speaks well?
Should you mouth us into submission
and go on with your impudent lies?
You say, “My conscience is clear”;
you think that your life is spotless.
But if God were to cross-examine you
and turned up your hidden motives
and presented his case against you
and told you why he has punished you—
you would know that your guilt is great.
How can you understand God
or fathom his endless wisdom?
It is higher than heaven—an you reach it?,
deeper than hell—can you touch it?,
wider than all the earth,
broader than the breadth of the sea.
If he seizes and casts in prison
and condemns—who can stop him?
For he knows that you are a sinner;
he sees and judges your crimes.
But a stupid man will be wise
when a cow gives birth to a zebra.
Come now, repent of your sins;
open your heart to God.
Wash your hands of their wickedness;
banish crime from your door.
Then your soul will be pure;
your heart will be firm and fearless.
All your suffering will vanish,
flowing away like a stream.
Your life will shine like the sun;
your darkest day will be bright.
Your faith will be unshakable;
your mind will be strong and serene.
No one will dare to disturb you;
many will seek your favor.
But the wicked will all be punished;
they will live in constant terror;
their hope will become a noose.
You, it seems, know everything;
perfect wisdom is yours.
But I am not an idiot:
who does not know such things?
Even the animals will tell you,
and the birds in the sky will teach you.
Any plant will instruct you;
go learn from the fish in the sea.
Which of them does not know
that God created all things?
In his hand is the soul of all beings
and the spirit of every man.
Doesn’t the mind understand
as simply as the tongue tastes?
Do all men grow in knowledge?
Are they wise because they are old?
Only God is wise;
knowledge is his alone.
He tears down—no man can build;
he imprisons—o man can free.
He holds back the rain—there is drought;
he pours it—t floods the earth.
Power belongs to him only;
deceived and deceiver are his.
He turns great lords into morons,
priests into driveling fools.
He pushes kings off their thrones
and knocks the crown from their heads.
He strips the wise of their reason
and makes the eloquent mute.
He pours contempt on princes
and crushes the high and haughty.
He puffs up nations and wrecks them,
blotting them out in their pride.
He drives great rulers insane
and drops them alone in the wilderness.
They grope about in the dark,
staggering as if they were drunk.
All this I have seen with my own eyes;
my own ears have heard these things.
What you know, I know also;
my mind is as clear as yours.
But I want to speak before God,
to present my case in God’s court.
For you smear my wounds with ignorance
and patch my body with lies.
Don’t you have any sense?
Will you never shut your mouths?
Listen now to my arguments;
hear out my accusations.
Will you lie to vindicate God?
Will you perjure yourselves for him?
Will you blindly stand on his side,
pleading his case alone?
What will you do when he questions you?
Can you cheat him as you would a man?
Won’t he judge you severely
if your testimony is false?
Won’t he crush you with terror
and chill your bones with fear?
Your answers are dusty answers;
your words crumble like clay.
Be quiet now—let me speak;
whatever happens will happen.
I will take my flesh in my teeth,
hold my life in my hands.
He may kill me, but I won’t stop;
I will speak the truth, to his face.
Listen now to my words;
pay attention to what I say.
For I have prepared my defense,
and I know that I am right.
Grant me one thing only,
and I will not hide from your face:
do not numb me with fear
or flood my heart with your terror.
Accuse me —I will respond;
or let me speak, and answer me.
What crime have I committed?
How have I sinned against you?
Why do you hide your face
as if I were your enemy?
Will you frighten a withered leaf
or hunt down a piece of straw?
For you count up all my errors
and convict me for the sins of my youth.
You put my legs in shackles;
you brand the soles of my feet;
you follow my every step.
Man who is born of woman—
how few and harsh are his days!
Like a flower he blooms and withers;
like a shadow he fades in the dark.
He falls apart like a wine-skin,
like a garment chewed by moths.
And must you take notice of him?
Must you call him to account?
Since all his days are determined
and the sum of his years is set—
look away; leave him alone;
grant him peace, for one moment.
Even if it is cut down,
a tree can return to life.
Though its roots decay in the ground
and its stump grows old and rotten,
it will bud at the scent of water
and bloom as if it were young.
But man is cut down forever;
he dies, and where is he then?
The lake is drained of its water,
the river becomes a ditch,
and man will not rise again
while the sky is above the earth.
If only you would hide me in the pit
till your anger has passed away,
then come to me and release me.
All my days in prison
I would sit and wait for that time.
You would call me —I would answer;
you would come to me and rejoice,
delighting in my smallest step
like a father watching his child.
But cliffs fall to the ground;
boulders crumble away;
mountains are turned to dust;
and you destroy man’s hope.
You crush him into the ground,
send him away disfigured.
If his sons are honored, does he know?
If his daughters are shamed, does he care?
Only his own flesh hurts him,
and he mourns for himself alone.
Does a wise man spout such nonsense
and fill his belly with gas?
Does he blurt out useless arguments,
words that can do no good?
You are undermining religion
and crippling faith in God.
Sin has seduced your mind;
your tongue flaps with deceit.
Your mouth condemns you, not I;
your own lips testify against you.
Are you the first man to be born,
created before the mountains?
Have you listened in at God’s keyhole
and crept away with his plans?
What do you know that we don’t?
What have you seen that we haven’t?
We are old; our beards are white;
we speak with the wisdom of age.
Will you scorn religion’s comforts
and reject our indulgent advice?
What has taken hold of you?
What has made you so wild
that you spew your anger at God
and spit out such insolent words?
What is man— is he pure?
Can a son of woman be sinless?
If God mistrusts his angels
and heaven stinks in his nose,
what of that vermin, man,
who laps up filth like water?
Listen now to my words;
I will tell you what I have seen—
what the sages too have said
and the wise have never kept hidden:
The wicked man’s life is a torment;
his days are anguish and pain.
In his ear is the voice of terror;
in his mouth is the taste of death.
He flees from darkness to darkness;
he is marked for the edge of the sword.
His body is food for vultures;
disaster nibbles his flesh.
Anguish pounds at his mind;
fear and panic assault him,
like a soldier before a battle.
For he shook his fist at God
and dared to revolt against him,
charging at him headlong
behind the spikes of his shield.
Though his face was plump and cheerful
and his thighs bulged with health,
he lives in a desolate city
and sleeps in an empty room.
All his works have decayed;
his roots have rotted in the ground.
The sun withered his shoots;
his blossoms fell in the wind.
His leaves shriveled and died;
all his branches are bare.
He was stripped of his grapes like a vine
and dropped his buds like an olive tree.
For the fate of the wicked is barren,
and his hopes are consumed by fire.
His womb is heavy with suffering;
he gives birth to sorrow and pain.
Enough —I have heard enough!
I am sick of your consolations!
How long will you pelt me with insults?
Will your malice never relent?
I too could say such things
if you were in my position:
I could bury you with accusations
and sneer at you in my piety;
or whisper my easy comfort
and encourage you with a word.
But I speak, and my pain keeps raging;
I am silent, and have no relief.
For disaster has worn me out,
and suffering has made me wither.
In his rage he hunted and caught me;
he cracked my bones in his teeth.
I was whole— he ripped me apart,
chewed my body to pulp.
He set me up as a target;
his arrows tore through my flesh.
He hacked my liver to pieces;
he poured my gall on the ground.
He besieged me like a fortress;
he demolished my inmost walls.
I have wrapped my skin in sackcloth
and laid my head in the dust.
My face is swollen from weeping;
shadows circle my eyes—
although my hands are spotless
and the prayer of my heart is pure.
O Earth, do not cover my blood!
Never let my cry be buried!
For I have a witness in heaven,
a spokesman above the clouds.
May he judge between mortal and God
as he would between man and neighbor.
For grief has darkened my eyes;
my body is like a shadow.
My days fade like an echo;
the strings of my heart have snapped.
And soon my life will vanish;
I will walk down into the dust.
I have taken the pit as my home
and made my bed in the dark.
I have called the grave my father;
the worm my mother, my sister.
And where now is my hope?
My piety— who will see it?
It will follow me to the grave
and lie in the dust beside me.
How long will you lay these word-snares?
Be sensible: then we will talk.
Why do you treat us like morons
and act as if we were cows?
Should the earth be changed for your sake
and mountains move at your bidding?
It is true: the sinner is snuffed out;
his candle flickers and dies.
His arrogant steps are hobbled;
he is tripped by his own deceit.
A net catches his legs;
he stumbles into a pit.
His heels stick in a trap;
a noose snaps his neck.
The terrors of death surround him
and make him piss in his pants.
Misfortune hungers after him;
disaster waits at his side.
Sickness gnaws his flesh;
death picks his bones.
Fire guts his house;
sulphur rains on his fields.
All his roots are withered;
all his branches are bare.
He disappears from the earth;
not a trace is left behind him.
He is thrown into endless darkness
and locked out of the world.
At his fate the East is appalled,
and terror grips the West.
This is what happens to the godless;
this is the sinner’s doom.
How long will you make me suffer
and crush my heart with your words?
Again and again you mock me
and wrong me with shameless lies.
Do you think I have lost my mind?
Am I the one who is raving?
Are you sure that you have convicted me
and justified my disgrace?
No— because God has tricked me,
and lured me into his trap.
I call, but there is no answer;
I cry out, and where is justice?
He made my road impassable,
covered my path with darkness,
stripped me of my honor,
knocked the crown from my head.
He broke me, rooted me up,
left me in little pieces.
His anger set me on fire;
his hatred burned me to ashes.
All my friends have forgotten me;
my neighbors have thrown me away.
My relatives look through me
as though I didn’t exist.
My servants refuse to hear me;
they shun me like a leper.
My breath sickens my wife;
my stench disgusts my brothers.
Even young children fear me;
when they see me, they run away.
My dearest friends despise me;
I have lost everyone I love.
Have pity on me, my friends,
for God’s fist has struck me.
Why must you hunt me as God does?
Why do you gnaw my flesh?
If only my cry were recorded
and my plea inscribed on a tablet—
carved with an iron stylus,
chiseled in rock forever.
Someday my witness would come;
my avenger would read those words.
He would plead for me in God’s court;
he would stand up and vindicate my name.
My mind is seething with anger,
and rage drives me to speak.
I have heard enough of your insults;
you answer our wisdom with lies.
Haven’t you realized yet
(How can you be so blind!)
that the sinner’s joy is brief
and lasts no more than a moment?
Though he rises as high as heaven
and his forehead touches the clouds,
he will drop to the ground like dung
and rot like a fallen fruit.
He flies away like a vision,
vanishes like a dream.
His friends do not give him a thought;
his children forget his name.
His body may pulse with vigor,
but soon he will lie in the dust.
Though crime was sweet on his lips
and evil melted in his mouth,
though he tried to keep its flavor
and hold its taste on his tongue,
the food that he swallowed turns
to poison inside his belly.
He chews the head of a viper,
sucks the tongue of a snake.
He loses his vats of oil;
his cream and honey are spilled.
He is forced to spit up his riches
and vomit out all his wealth.
For he crushed the weak and the helpless;
he pushed the poor from their huts.
His hunger gave him no rest;
he was driven by his desire;
nothing escaped his greed:
therefore his wealth will vanish.
At the height of his fortune he falls;
every disaster strikes him.
The wrath of God assaults him;
calamities rain on his head.
Total darkness engulfs him;
fire from heaven consumes him.
Storms demolish his fields;
floods sweep away his house.
Heaven reveals his guilt,
and earth rises against him.
This is the fate of the sinner;
this is the rebel’s reward.
Listen now to my words;
let that be the comfort you give me.
Bear with me: let me speak;
when I finish, then you can laugh.
Is my grievance against a man?
Why shouldn’t I be impatient?
Look at me: be appalled;
clap your hands to your mouths.
When I think of it I am terrified
and horror chills my flesh.
Why do the wicked prosper
and live to a ripe old age?
Their children stand beside them;
their grandchildren sit on their laps.
Their houses are safe from danger,
secure from the wrath of God.
Not one of their bulls is impotent;
not one of their cows miscarries.
Their grandchildren run out to play,
skipping about like lambs,
singing to drum and lyre,
dancing to the sound of the flute.
They end their lives in prosperity
and go to the grave in peace.
Yet they tell God, “Leave us alone;
we can’t be bothered about you.
Why should we pray to God?
What good will it do us to serve you?”
Is the lamp of the sinner snuffed out?
Does misfortune knock on his door?
Is he really driven like chaff,
blown like straw in the wind?
Is calamity saved for his children?
Let him have his punishment now!
Let his own eyes see disaster!
Let him choke on the wrath of God!
For what does he care about others
when his own life comes to an end?
One man dies serenely,
lapped in safety and comfort,
his thighs bulging with fat,
the marrow moist in his bones.
Another dies in despair,
his life bitter on his tongue.
But both men rot in the ground,
and maggots chew on them both.
I know what you are thinking,
the lies you have slapped together.
You say, “But where is the rich man?
Show us the homes of the wicked!”
Haven’t you talked with travelers?
Don’t you know from their tales
that the sinner escapes destruction
and is spared on the day of wrath?
No one condemns his sins
or punishes him for his crimes.
He is carried with pomp to the graveyard;
thousands weep by his coffin.
He is tucked into the earth,
and flowers bloom on his grave.
How hollow then is your comfort!
Your answers are empty lies.
What use can man be to God—
even the wisest of men?
Does God profit from your goodness
or gain by your perfect conduct?
Would he sentence you for your piety
or punish you for your faith?
Your guilt must be great indeed;
your crimes must be inconceivable.
You cheated your dearest friends,
stripped your debtors naked,
stole food from the hungry,
let the destitute starve,
spat on widow and orphan,
laughed in the beggar’s face.
That is why pain surrounds you
and sudden terror has struck you.
Light is turned to darkness,
and the waves close over your head.
Since God is far up in heaven,
higher than the highest stars,
you thought, “What does he know?
Can he see through the thicket of clouds?
How can he judge my actions,
as he walks on the rim of the sky?”
Why do you keep on sinning,
as the wicked have always done?
They were cut off before their time;
they were swept away in a flood.
For they told God, “Leave us alone;
don’t meddle in our affairs.”
The righteous saw and were happy;
the innocent laughed at their fall.
Everything they had was destroyed,
and all their riches vanished.
Come now: make peace with God;
make peace: you will not be sorry.
Listen to his instructions;
keep his words in your heart.
If you humble yourself before him
and banish sin from your house,
treating your gold like dust,
your silver like worthless pebbles,
then God will become your treasure,
more precious than the finest gold.
For then you will trust in God
and look to heaven for help.
You will pray, and he will hear you;
he will grant whatever you wish.
Everything you do will succeed,
and light will shine on your path.
For he does not abandon the innocent;
if you are pure, he will save you.
Still my condition is desperate;
his fist still beats on my skull.
If only I knew where to meet him
and could find my way to his court.
I would argue my case before him;
words would flow from my mouth.
I would counter all his arguments
and disprove his accusations.
Would he try to overpower me
or refuse to hear my defense?
Surely he would listen to reason;
I would surely win my case.
For he knows that I am innocent;
if he sifts me I will shine like gold.
My feet have walked on his way
and never strayed from his path.
I have kept all his commandments,
treasuring his words in my heart.
But he wills, and who can stop him?
What he wishes to do, he does.
He will go ahead with his plans,
devising my endless torment.
That is why terror grips me;
when I think of it, I am appalled.
He has wrung the strength from my mind
and pumped my heart full with sorrow.
Yet I am not silenced by darkness
or the night that covers my face.
Where are the days of judgment,
the times when the wicked are tried?
They steal land from their neighbors
and walk away with their flocks.
They drive off the orphan’s donkey,
impound the widow’s bull.
They push the weak from the pathway
and force the wretched to hide.
The poor, like herds of cattle,
wander across the plains,
searching all day for food,
picking up scraps for their children.
Naked, without a refuge,
they shiver in the bitter cold.
When it rains, they are drenched to the bone;
they huddle together in caves.
They carry grain for the wicked
and break their backs for the rich.
They press olives and starve,
crush grapes and go thirsty.
In the city the dying groan
and the wounded cry out for help;
but God sees nothing wrong.
At twilight the killer appears,
stalking his helpless victim.
The rapist waits for evening
and roams through the darkened streets.
The thief crawls from the shadows
with a hood pulled over his face.
They shut themselves in by day
and hate the sight of the sun.
Midnight to them is morning;
they thrive in the terrors of night.
How can a man be pure
or a son of woman be sinless?
If God despises the moon
and thinks that the stars are tainted,
what about man, that worm,
that vile, stinking maggot?
Power belongs to God,
who makes peace in heaven.
Can his vast battalions be numbered?
Who can escape his onslaught?
The dead tremble beneath him;
demons shudder at his name.
The pit is naked before him;
below him the grave gapes wide.
He stretched the sky over chaos;
he hung the earth in the void.
He wrapped the waters in rainclouds,
and they did not burst from the weight.
He set the horizon there,
at the boundary of light and darkness.
The pillars of heaven trembled;
the mountains shook at his rage.
With his power he bound the Sea;
with his cunning he crushed the Dragon.
He shattered the Ocean with his breath
and pierced the primeval Serpent.
These are the least of his works:
we hear no more than a whisper;
for who knows his thunderous might?
How kind you all have been to me!
How considerate of my pain!
What would I do without you
and the good advice you have given?
Who has made you so tactful
and inspired such compassionate words?
I swear by God, who has wronged me
and filled my cup with despair,
that while there is life in this body
and as long as I can breathe,
I will never let you convict me;
I will never give up my claim.
I will hold tight to my innocence;
my mind will never submit.
What can the sinner hope for
when God demands his life?
Is he able to trust in God
and cry out to him at that moment?
Will God be moved by his screaming
as death takes him by the throat?
This is the sinner’s fate,
the violent man’s reward:
Famine devours his daughters;
his sons are murdered by thieves.
He may heap up silver like dirt,
pile up the finest linen,
but the righteous inherit his wealth
and the innocent share his possessions.
His house is frail as a bird’s nest,
weak as a watchman’s hut.
He goes to sleep a rich man;
when he wakes up, his room is bare.
Waves of terror flood over him;
panic sweeps him away.
The east wind flings itself on him,
whirls him out of his bed,
claps its hands around him
and whistles him off in the dark.