Bildad: God Punishes the Wicked
And Bildad the Shuhite answered and said:
How long until you make an end of words? Understand, and afterward we will speak.
Why are we counted as cattle, and reckoned unclean in your eyes?
You who tear your own soul in your anger — shall the earth be forsaken for your sake, and a rock move from its place?
Yes, the light of the wicked goes out, and the flame of his fire does not shine.
Light grows dark in his tent, and his lamp goes out above him.
The steps of his strength are hemmed in, and his own counsel throws him down.
For he is sent into a net by his own feet, and he walks about on a lattice.
A trap seizes him by the heel; a snare holds fast on him.
His rope is hidden in the ground, and his trap on the path.
Terrors dismay him on every side, and chase him at his heels.
His strength is hungry, and calamity is ready at his side.
It eats the parts of his skin; the firstborn of death eats his parts.
He is torn from his tent, his confidence; and it marches him to the king of terrors.
What is none of his dwells in his tent; sulfur is scattered on his homestead.
Beneath, his roots dry up; and above, his branch withers.
His memory perishes from the earth, and he has no name on the face of the open field.
They thrust him from light into darkness, and drive him out of the world.
He has no offspring and no descendant among his people, and no survivor where he sojourned.
At his day those in the west are appalled, and those in the east are seized with horror.
Surely these are the dwellings of the unjust, and this is the place of one who did not know God.