Chapter 24

Why does the Almighty not reserve times for judgment? Why do those who know him never see his days?
The wicked displace boundary markers. They steal a flock and provide pasture for it.
They drive away the donkeys owned by the fatherless and take the widow's ox as collateral.
They push the needy off the road; the poor of the land are forced into hiding.
Like wild donkeys in the wilderness, the poor go out to their task of foraging for food; the desert provides nourishment for their children.
They gather their fodder in the field and glean the vineyards of the wicked.
Without clothing, they spend the night naked, having no covering against the cold.
Drenched by mountain rains, they huddle against the rocks, shelterless.
The fatherless infant is snatched from the breast; the nursing child of the poor is seized as collateral.
Without clothing, they wander about naked. They carry sheaves but go hungry.
They crush olives in their presses; they tread the winepresses, but go thirsty.
From the city, men groan; the mortally wounded cry for help, yet God pays no attention to this crime.
The wicked are those who rebel against the light.

They do not recognize its ways or stay on its paths.

The murderer rises at dawn to kill the poor and needy, and by night he becomes a thief.
The adulterer's eye watches for twilight, thinking, "No eye will see me," and he covers his face.
In the dark they break into houses; by day they lock themselves in, never experiencing the light.
For the morning is like darkness to them. Surely they are familiar with the terrors of darkness!
They float on the surface of the water. Their section of the land is cursed, so that they never go to their vineyards.
As dry ground and heat snatch away the melted snow, so Sheol steals those who have sinned.
The womb forgets them; worms feed on them; they are remembered no more. So injustice is broken like a tree.
They prey on the childless woman who is unable to conceive, and do not deal kindly with the widow.
Yet God drags away the mighty by his power; when he rises up, they have no assurance of life.
He gives them a sense of security, so they can rely on it, but his eyes watch over their ways.
They are exalted for a moment, then gone; they are brought low and shrivel up like everything else. They wither like heads of grain.
If this is not true, then who can prove me a liar and show that my speech is worthless?