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JobChapitre 18

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Then Bildad the Shuhite answered:
How long will you go on hunting for words? Think it through, and then we can talk.
Why are we counted as cattle, reckoned unclean in your eyes?
You who tear yourself to pieces in your anger — shall the earth be abandoned for your sake, or the rock be moved from its place?
Indeed, the light of the wicked is extinguished; the flame of his fire no longer shines.
The light in his tent grows dark, and the lamp above him is snuffed out.
His vigorous stride is cut short, and his own schemes throw him down.
For by his own feet he is thrust into a net; he walks about upon the netting.
A trap seizes him by the heel; a snare holds him fast.
A rope lies hidden for him in the ground, a snare across his path.
Terrors startle him on every side and chase him at his heels.
Hunger wastes away his strength; ruin waits ready for his fall.
Disease eats away his skin; the firstborn of death devours his limbs.
He is torn from the safety of his tent and marched off to the king of terrors.
Strangers settle in his tent, for nothing of his remains; burning sulfur is scattered over his dwelling.
Below, his roots dry up; above, his branches wither.
His memory perishes from the earth; he has no name in the streets.
He is driven from light into darkness and banished from the world.
He leaves no offspring or descendant among his people, no survivor where he once lived.
Those who come after are appalled at his day; those who went before are seized with horror.
Surely such are the dwellings of the wicked, and this is the place of the one who does not know God.
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