Parallel
Job 27
Louis Segond 1910 · Berean Standard Bible
Dieu qui me refuse justice est vivant!
“As surely as God lives, who has deprived me of justice—the Almighty, who has embittered my soul—
Aussi longtemps que j’aurai ma respiration,
as long as my breath is still within me and the breath of God remains in my nostrils,
Mes lèvres ne prononceront rien d’injuste,
my lips will not speak wickedness, and my tongue will not utter deceit.
Loin de moi la pensée de vous donner raison!
I will never say that you are right; I will maintain my integrity until I die.
Je tiens à me justifier, et je ne faiblirai pas;
I will cling to my righteousness and never let go. As long as I live, my conscience will not accuse me.
Que mon ennemi soit comme le méchant,
May my enemy be like the wicked and my opponent like the unjust.
Quelle espérance reste-t-il à l’impie,
For what is the hope of the godless when he is cut off, when God takes away his life?
Fait-il du Tout-Puissant ses délices?
Will he delight in the Almighty? Will he call upon God at all times?
Je vous enseignerai les voies de Dieu,
I will instruct you in the power of God. I will not conceal the ways of the Almighty.
Mais vous les connaissez, et vous êtes d’accord;
Surely all of you have seen it for yourselves. Why then do you keep up this empty talk?
Voici la part que Dieu réserve au méchant,
This is the wicked man’s portion from God—the heritage the ruthless receive from the Almighty.
S’il a des fils en grand nombre, c’est pour le glaive,
Though his sons are many, they are destined for the sword; and his offspring will never have enough food.
Ceux qui échappent sont enterrés par la peste,
His survivors will be buried by the plague, and their widows will not weep for them.
S’il amasse l’argent comme la poussière,
Though he heaps up silver like dust and piles up a wardrobe like clay,
C’est lui qui entasse, mais c’est le juste qui se revêt,
what he lays up, the righteous will wear, and his silver will be divided by the innocent.
Sa maison est comme celle que bâtit la teigne,
The house he built is like a moth’s cocoon, like a hut set up by a watchman.
Il se couche riche, et il meurt dépouillé;
He lies down wealthy, but will do so no more; when he opens his eyes, all is gone.
Les terreurs le surprennent comme des eaux;
Terrors overtake him like a flood; a tempest sweeps him away in the night.
Le vent d’orient l’emporte, et il s’en va;
The east wind carries him away, and he is gone; it sweeps him out of his place.
Dieu lance sans pitié des traits contre lui,
It hurls itself against him without mercy as he flees headlong from its power.