Job The Amalgamation
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Job 39
Do you know when the mountain goats give birth?
Do you observe the doe calving the fawn?
Do you count the months they must fulfill?
Do you know the time they will give birth?
When they crouch to bring forth their offspring?
Are delivered of their pregnancy?
Their offspring thrive, grow up in their sight;
Then leave them, never to return.
Who gave the wild ass its freedom?
Who loosened the bonds of the onager (wild ass),
Whose home I have made the wilderness,
Whose dwelling is the salt flat?
It scorns the noise of the city,
Will hear no shouts from a driver.
It ranges over the mountains for pasture,
Searching after every green thing.
Will the buffalo consent to serve you?
Will it abide by your feeding trough?
Can you bind it to the furrow with ropes?
Will it plow the valley following you?
Would you depend on it because of its great strength,
And leave the produce of your labor to it?
Can you rely on it to return?
To gather in your grain to the threshing floor?
Joyously the ostrich flaps its wings.
Is its pinion that of the stork, or the falcon?
For it leaves its eggs on the ground,
Lets them be warmed in the soil.
Unmindful that a foot may crush them,
Or a wild beast may trample them.
Tough on its young, as if not their own,
In vain their efforts, without fear.
Far I have made it forgetful of wisdom,
Given it no share in understanding.
When it spreads its wings as if to soar,
It laughs at the horse and rider.
Do you give the horse its strength?
Clothe its neck with a flowing mane?
Did you make its roar like locust,
The majesty of its snorting terrifying?
Hooves fiercely striking the valley, with strength and joy,
Charging forth into battle.
It scoffs at fear, undaunted;
Not shying away from the sword,
The quivers rattling at its side,
The flashes of the spear not the javelin.
With excitement and agitation, it stomps the ground,
Not believing the trumpet is sounding.
At the trumpet’s faint sound, it snorts ‘Aha’,
Sensing the battel from afar,
The shouting of commanders and the battle cries.
Is it by your wisdom that the vulture grows pinions,
Spreads its wings to flow down wind?
By your word does the eagle mount,
And make its nest on high?
On the cliff face it makes its home,
In the fastness of the crag crest.
From there it spies its prey,
Its eyes detect it from afar.
Its young ones suck up blood,
Where the slain are, there it is.
Posted 3/5/25, Job 364