He is torn from the security of his tent, and marched off to the king of terrors.
But the eyes of the wicked will fail, and escape will elude them; their only hope is their dying breath.”
Terrifying sounds are in his ears; in a time of peace, marauders attack him.
The light in his tent grows dark; the lamp above him goes out.
He pulls and it comes out of his back, the gleaming point out of his liver. Terrors come upon him!
For to all of them, morning is as thick darkness; they are familiar with the terrors of thick darkness.
The house he built is like a moth’s cocoon, like a hut made for a watchman.
whose confidence is snapped off, his trust is a spider’s web.
Those who hate you will be clothed with shame. The tent of the wicked will be no more!”
The wicked will see it and be indignant. He will gnash with his teeth and waste away. The desire of the wicked will perish.
because of the voice of the enemy, because of the pressure of the wicked. For they thrust trouble on me, and in anger bear a grudge against me.
The prospect of the righteous is joy, but the hope of the wicked perishes.
The wicked is brought down in his calamity yet the righteous has a refuge even in death.
and free those who by fear of death were in bondage all their lives.