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¹ But, now, they who are of fewer days than I, have poured derision upon me; whose fathers I refused - to set with the dogs of my flock.² Even the strength of their hands, wherefore was it mine? Upon them, vigour was lost;³ In want and hunger, they were lean, - who used to gnaw the dry ground, a dark night of desolation!⁴ Who used to pluck off the mallow by the bushes, with the root of the broom for their food;⁵ Out of the midst, were they driven, men shouted after them, as after a thief;⁶ In the fissures, of the ravines had they to dwell, in holes of dust and crags;⁷ Among the bushes, used they to shriek, Under the bramble, were they huddled together:⁸ Sons of the base, yea sons of the nameless, they were scourged out of the land.⁹ But, now, their song, have I become, Yea I serve them for a byword;¹⁰ They abhor me - have put themselves far from me, and, from my face, have not withheld - spittle!¹¹ Because, my girdle, he had loosened and had humbled me, therefore, the bridle - in my presence, cast they off;¹² On my right hand, the young brood rose up, - My feet, they thrust aside, and cast up against me their earthworks of destruction;¹³ They brake up my path, - My engulfing ruin, they helped forward, unaided;¹⁴ As through a wide breach, came they on, with a crashing noise, they rolled themselves along.

¹⁵ There are turned upon me terrors, - Chased away as with a wind, is mine abundance, and, as a cloud, hath passed away my prosperity.¹⁶ Now, therefore, over myself, my soul poureth itself out, There seize me days of affliction:¹⁷ Night, boreth, my bones, all over me, - and, my sinews, find no rest;¹⁸ Most effectually, is my skin disfigured, - Like the collar of my tunic, it girdeth me about:¹⁹ He hath cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.²⁰ I cry out for help unto thee, and thou dost not answer, I stand still, and thou dost gaze at me;²¹ Thou art turned to become a cruel one unto me, With the might of thy hand, thou assailest me;²² Thou liftest up me to the wind, thou carriest me away, and the storm maketh me faint;²³ For I know that, unto death, thou wilt bring me back, even unto the house of meeting for every one living.²⁴ Only, against a heap of ruins, will one not thrust a hand! Surely, when one is in calamity - for that very reason, is there an outcry for help.²⁵ Verily I wept, for him whose lot was hard, Grieved was my soul, for the needy.²⁶ Surely, for good, I looked, but there came in evil, And I waited for light, but there came in darkness;²⁷ I boiled within me, and rested not, There confronted me - days of affliction;²⁸ In gloom, I walked along, without sun, I arose - in the convocation, I cried out for help;²⁹ A brother, became I to the brutes that howl, and a companion to the birds that screech:³⁰ My skin, turned black, and peeled off me, and, my bones, burned with heat:³¹ Thus is attuned to mourning - my lyre, and my flute, to the noise of them who weep.