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¹ "But now they make sport of me, men who are younger than I, whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.² What could I gain from the strength of their hands, men whose vigor is gone?³ Through want and hard hunger they gnaw the dry and desolate ground;⁴ they pick mallow and the leaves of bushes, and to warm themselves the roots of the broom.⁵ They are driven out from among men; they shout after them as after a thief.⁶ In the gullies of the torrents they must dwell, in holes of the earth and of the rocks.⁷ Among the bushes they bray; under the nettles they huddle together.⁸ A senseless, a disreputable brood, they have been whipped out of the land.⁹ "And now I have become their song, I am a byword to them.¹⁰ They abhor me, they keep aloof from me; they do not hesitate to spit at the sight of me.¹¹ Because God has loosed my cord and humbled me, they have cast off restraint in my presence.¹² On my right hand the rabble rise, they drive me forth, they cast up against me their ways of destruction.¹³ They break up my path, they promote my calamity; no one restrains them.¹⁴ As through a wide breach they come; amid the crash they roll on.

¹⁵ Terrors are turned upon me; my honor is pursued as by the wind, and my prosperity has passed away like a cloud.¹⁶ "And now my soul is poured out within me; days of affliction have taken hold of me.¹⁷ The night racks my bones, and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest.¹⁸ With violence it seizes my garment; it binds me about like the collar of my tunic.¹⁹ God has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.²⁰ I cry to thee and thou dost not answer me; I stand, and thou dost not heed me.²¹ Thou hast turned cruel to me; with the might of thy hand thou dost persecute me.²² Thou liftest me up on the wind, thou makest me ride on it, and thou tossest me about in the roar of the storm.²³ Yea, I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living.²⁴ "Yet does not one in a heap of ruins stretch out his hand, and in his disaster cry for help?²⁵ Did not I weep for him whose day was hard? Was not my soul grieved for the poor?²⁶ But when I looked for good, evil came; and when I waited for light, darkness came.²⁷ My heart is in turmoil, and is never still; days of affliction come to meet me.²⁸ I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.²⁹ I am a brother of jackals, and a companion of ostriches.³⁰ My skin turns black and falls from me, and my bones burn with heat.³¹ My lyre is turned to mourning, and my pipe to the voice of those who weep.