And now, laughed at me, Have the younger in days than I, Whose fathers I have loathed to set With the dogs of my flock.

Also -- the power of their hands, why `is it' to me? On them hath old age perished.

With want and with famine gloomy, Those fleeing to a dry place, Formerly a desolation and waste,

Those cropping mallows near a shrub, And broom-roots `is' their food.

From the midst they are cast out, (They shout against them as a thief),

In a frightful place of valleys to dwell, Holes of earth and clefts.

Among shrubs they do groan, Under nettles they are gathered together.

Sons of folly -- even sons without name, They have been smitten from the land.

And now, their song I have been, And I am to them for a byword.

They have abominated me, They have kept far from me, And from before me have not spared to spit.

Because His cord He loosed and afflicteth me, And the bridle from before me, They have cast away.

On the right hand doth a brood arise, My feet they have cast away, And they raise up against me, Their paths of calamity.

They have broken down my path, By my calamity they profit, `He hath no helper.'

As a wide breach they come, Under the desolation have rolled themselves.

He hath turned against me terrors, It pursueth as the wind mine abundance, And as a thick cloud, Hath my safety passed away.

And now, in me my soul poureth itself out, Seize me do days of affliction.

At night my bone hath been pierced in me, And mine eyelids do not lie down.

By the abundance of power, Is my clothing changed, As the mouth of my coat it doth gird me.

Casting me into mire, And I am become like dust and ashes.

I cry unto Thee, And Thou dost not answer me, I have stood, and Thou dost consider me.

Thou art turned to be fierce to me, With the strength of Thy hand, Thou oppresest me.

Thou dost lift me up, On the wind Thou dost cause me to ride, And Thou meltest -- Thou levellest me.

For I have known To death Thou dost bring me back, And `to' the house appointed for all living.

Surely not against the heap Doth He send forth the hand, Though in its ruin they have safety.

Did not I weep for him whose day is hard? Grieved hath my soul for the needy.

When good I expected, then cometh evil, And I wait for light, and darkness cometh.

My bowels have boiled, and have not ceased, Gone before me have days of affliction.

Mourning I have gone without the sun, I have risen, in an assembly I cry.

A brother I have been to dragons, And a companion to daughters of the ostrich.

My skin hath been black upon me, And my bone hath burned from heat,

And my harp doth become mourning, And my organ the sound of weeping.