Chapter Six: Job replies, my complaint is just.

Then Job answered, "O that my vexation be weighed, and all my calamity laid in the balances! For then it would be heavier than the sand of the sea; therefore my words have been rash. For the arrows of the Almighty are in me; my spirit drinks their poison; the terrors of God are arrayed against me. Does the would ass bray over it's grass, or the ox low over it's fodder? Can that which is tasteless be eaten without salt, or is there any flavor in the juice of mallows? My appetite refuses to touch them; they are like food that is loathsome to me. O that I might have my request, and that God might grant my desire; that it would please God to crush me, that he would let loose his hand and cut me off! This would be my consolation; I would even exult in unrelenting pain; for I have not denied the words of the Holy One. What is my strength, that I should wait? And what is my end, that I should be patient? Is my strength the strength of stones, or my flesh bronze? In truth I have no help in me, and any resource is driven from me. Those who withhold kindness from a friend, forsake the fear of the Almighty. My companions are treacherous like a torrent bed, like freshets that pass away, that run dark with ice, turbid with melting snow. In time of heat they disappear, when it is hot they vanish from their place. The caravans turn aside from their course; they go up onto waste, and perish. Such you have now become to me, you see my calamity, and are afraid. Have I said, 'make me a gift'? Or, 'from your wealth, offer a bribe for me'? Or, 'Ransom me from the hand of the oppressors'? Teach me, and I will be silent; make me understand how I have gone wrong. How forceful are honest words! But your reproof, what does it reprove? Do you think that you can reprove words, as if the speech of the desperate were wind? You can even cast lots over the orphan, and bargain over your friend. But now, be pleased to look at me, for I will not lie to your face. Turn, I pray, let no wrong be done. Turn now, my vindication is at stake. Is there any wrong on my tongue? Cannot my taste discern calamity?