Chapter Eighteen: Bildad Speaks: God Punishes the Wicked.

Then Bildad the Shuhite answered: "How long will you hunt for words? Consider, and then we shall speak. Why are we counted as cattle? Why are we stupid in your sight? You who tear yourself in your anger--shall the earth be forsaken because of you, or the rock be removed out of its place? Surely the light of the wicked is put out. Their strong steps are shortened, and their own schemes throw them down. For they are thrust into a net by their own feet, and they walk into a pitfall. A trap seizes them by the heel; a snare lays hold of them. A rope is hid for them in the ground, a trap for them in the path. Terrors frighten them on every side, and chase them at their heels. Their strength is consumed by hunger, and calamity is ready for their stumbling. By disease their skin is consumed, the firstborn of Death consumes their limbs. They are torn from the tent in which they trusted, and are brought to the king of terrors. In their tents nothing remains; Sulphur is scattered upon their habitations. Their roots dry up beneath, and their branches wither above. Their memory parishes from the earth, and they have no name in the street. They are thrust from light into darkness, and driven out of the world. They have no offspring or descendant among their people, and no survivor where they used to live. They of the west are appalled at their fate, and horror seizes those of the east. Surely such are the dwellings of the ungodly, such is the place of those who do not know God.