I am broken down by him on every side, and I am gone; my hope is uprooted like a tree.
Truly, there is no building up of what is pulled down by him; when a man is shut up by him, no one may let him loose.
The stones are crushed small by the force of the waters; the dust of the earth is washed away by their overflowing: and so you put an end to the hope of man.
My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the desires of my heart.
Where then is my hope? and who will see my desire?
And the Satan went out from before the Lord, and sent on Job an evil disease covering his skin from his feet to the top of his head.
The public place of his town has no more knowledge of him, and his name has gone from the memory of men: he is rooted up like a dead tree.
Have I strength to go on waiting, or have I any end to be looking forward to?
My days go quicker than the cloth-worker's thread, and come to an end without hope.
My days are like a shade which is stretched out; I am dry like the grass.