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1 But now they that are younger than I have me in derision,
Whose fathers I disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.
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2 Yes, the strength of their hands, whereto should it profit me?
Men in whom ripe age is perished.
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3 They are gaunt with want and famine;
They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of wasteness and desolation.
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4 They pluck salt-wort by the bushes;
And the roots of the broom are their food.
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5 They are driven forth from the midst of men;
They cry after them as after a thief;
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6 So that they dwell in frightful valleys,
In holes of the earth and of the rocks.
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7 Among the bushes they bray;
Under the nettles they are gathered together.
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8 They are children of fools, yes, children of base men;
They were scourged out of the land.
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9 And now I am become their song,
Yes, I am a byword unto them.
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10 They abhor me, they stand aloof from me,
And spare not to spit in my face.
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11 For he hath loosed his cord, and afflicted me;
And they have cast off the bridle before me.
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12 Upon my right hand rise the rabble;
They thrust aside my feet,
And they cast up against me their ways of destruction.
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13 They mar my path,
They set forward my calamity,
Even men that have no helper.
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14 As through a wide breach they come:
In the midst of the ruin they roll themselves upon me.
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15 Terrors are turned upon me;
They chase mine honor as the wind;
And my welfare is passed away as a cloud.
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16 And now my soul is poured out within me;
Days of affliction have taken hold upon me.
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17 In the night season my bones are pierced in me,
And the pains that gnaw me take no rest.
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18 By God’s great force is my garment disfigured;
It bindeth me about as the collar of my coat.
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19 He hath cast me into the mire,
And I am become like dust and ashes.
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20 I cry unto thee, and thou dost not answer me:
I stand up, and thou gazest at me.
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21 Thou art turned to be cruel to me;
With the might of thy hand thou persecutest me.
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22 Thou liftest me up to the wind, thou causest me to ride upon it;
And thou dissolvest me in the storm.
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23 For I know that thou wilt bring me to death,
And to the house appointed for all living.
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24 Howbeit doth not one stretch out the hand in his fall?
Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?
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25 Did not I weep for him that was in trouble?
Was not my soul grieved for the needy?
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26 When I looked for good, then evil came;
And when I waited for light, there came darkness.
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27 My heart is troubled, and resteth not;
Days of affliction are come upon me.
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28 I go mourning without the sun:
I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.
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29 I am a brother to jackals,
And a companion to ostriches.
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30 My skin is black, and falleth from me,
And my bones are burned with heat.
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31 Therefore is my harp turned to mourning,
And my pipe into the voice of them that weep. |
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