1But now they that are younger than I hold me in derision, Whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.
2Of what use to me would be even the strength of their hands, To whom old age is lost?
3By want and hunger they are famished; They gnaw the dry desert, The darkness of desolate wastes.
4They gather purslain among the bushes, And the root of the broom is their bread.
5They are driven from the society of men; There is a cry after them as after a thief.
6They dwell in gloomy valleys, In caves of the earth and in rocks.
7They bray among the bushes; Under the brambles are they stretched out.
8An impious and low-born race, They are beaten out of the land.
9And now I am become their song; Yea, I am their by-word!
10They abhor me, they stand aloof from me; They forbear not to spit before my face.
11Yea, they let loose the reins, and humble me; They cast off the bridle before me.
12On my right hand riseth up the brood; They thrust away my feet; They cast up against me their destructive ways.
13They break up my path; They hasten my fall,—They who have no helper!
14They come upon me as through a wide breach; Through the ruins they rush in upon me.
15Terrors are turned against me; They pursue my prosperity like the wind, And my welfare passeth away like a cloud.
16And now my soul poureth itself out upon me; Days of affliction have taken hold of me.
17By night my bones are pierced; they are torn from me, And my gnawers take no rest.
18Through the violence of my disease is my garment changed; It bindeth me about like the collar of my tunic.
19He hath cast me into the mire, And I am become like dust and ashes.
20I call upon Thee, but thou dost not hear me; I stand up before thee, but thou regardest me not.
21Thou art become cruel to me; With thy strong hand dost thou lie in wait for me.
22Thou liftest me up, and causest me to ride upon the wind; Thou meltest me away in the storm.
23I know that thou wilt bring me to death, To the place of assembly for all the living.
24When He stretcheth out his hand, prayer availeth nothing; When He bringeth destruction, vain is the cry for help.
25Did not I weep for him that was in trouble? Was not my soul grieved for the poor?
26But when I looked for good, then evil came; When I looked for light, then came darkness.
27My bowels boil, and have no rest; Days of anguish have come upon me.
28I am black, but not by the sun; I stand up, and utter my cries in the congregation.
29I am become a brother to jackals, And a companion to ostriches.
30My skin is black, and falleth from me, And my bones burn with heat.
31My harp also is turned to mourning, And my pipe to notes of grief.