But now they mock me, men younger than I am, whose fathers I would have refused to put with my sheep dogs.
What use to me was the strength of their hands? Their vigor had left them.
Emaciated from poverty and hunger, they gnawed the dry land, the desolate wasteland by night.
They plucked mallow among the shrubs, and the roots of the broom tree were their food.
They were expelled from human society; people shouted at them as [if they were] thieves.
They are living on the slopes of the wadis, among the rocks and in holes in the ground.
They bray among the shrubs; they huddle beneath the thistles.
Foolish men, without even a name! They were forced to leave the land.
Now I am mocked by their songs; I have become an object of scorn to them.
They despise me and keep their distance from me; they do not hesitate to spit in my face.
Because God has loosened my bowstring and oppressed me, they have cast off restraint in my presence.
The rabble rise up at my right; they trap my feet and construct their siege ramp against me.
They tear up my path; they contribute to my destruction, without anyone to help them.
They advance as through a gaping breach; they keep rolling in through the ruins.
Terrors are turned loose against me; they chase my dignity away like the wind, and my prosperity has passed by like a cloud.
Now my life is poured out before my [eyes], and days of suffering have seized me.
Night pierces my bones, and my gnawing pains never abate.
My clothing is distorted with great force; He chokes me by the neck of my garment.
He throws me into the mud, and I have become like dust and ashes.
I cry out to You for help, but You do not answer me; when I stand up, You [merely] look at me.
You have turned against me with cruelty; You harass me with Your strong hand.
You lift me up on the wind and make me ride [it]; You scatter me in the storm.
Yes, I know that You will lead me to death-- the place appointed for all who live.
Yet no one would stretch out [his] hand against a ruined man when he cries out to him for help because of his distress.
Have I not wept for those who have fallen on hard times? Has my soul not grieved for the needy?
But when I hoped for good, evil came; when I looked for light, darkness came.
I am churning within and cannot rest; days of suffering confront me.
I walk about blackened, but not by the sun. I stood in the assembly and cried out for help.
I have become a brother to jackals and a companion of ostriches.
My skin blackens and flakes off, and my bones burn with fever.
My lyre is [used] for mourning and my flute for the sound of weeping.