[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.