whose trust is in something futile, whose security is a spider’s web.

A flood will carry off his house, rushing waters on the day of God’s wrath.

The house he builds is as fragile as a moth’s cocoon, like a hut that a watchman has made.

to whom I appointed the steppe for its home, the salt wastes as its dwelling place?

or with princes who possessed gold, who filled their palaces with silver.

He returns no more to his house, nor does his place of residence know him any more.

It wraps its roots around a heap of stones and it looks for a place among stones.

If I hope for the grave to be my home, if I spread out my bed in darkness,

My guests and my servant girls consider me a stranger; I am a foreigner in their eyes.

For he has oppressed the poor and abandoned them; he has seized a house which he did not build.

Their houses are safe and without fear; and no rod of punishment from God is upon them.

For what is his interest in his home after his death, when the number of his months has been broken off?

But it was he who filled their houses with good things – yet the counsel of the wicked was far from me.

I know that you are bringing me to death, to the meeting place for all the living.

that you may take them to their borders and perceive the pathways to their homes?

Now the day came when Job’s sons and daughters were eating and drinking wine in their oldest brother’s house,

how much more to those who live in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, who are crushed like a moth?

He leans against his house but it does not hold up, he takes hold of it but it does not stand.

he lived in ruined towns and in houses where no one lives, where they are ready to crumble into heaps.

For you say, ‘Where now is the nobleman’s house, and where are the tents in which the wicked lived?’