Whose fathers I disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.

Men in whom ripe age is perished.

They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of wasteness and desolation.

And the roots of the broom are their food.

They cry after them as after a thief;

In holes of the earth and of the rocks.

Under the nettles they are gathered together.

They were scourged out of the land.

Yea, I am a byword unto them.

And spare not to spit in my face.

And they have cast off the bridle before me.

They thrust aside my feet,

And they cast up against me their ways of destruction.

They set forward my calamity,

Even men that have no helper.

In the midst of the ruin they roll themselves upon me.

They chase mine honor as the wind;

And my welfare is passed away as a cloud.

Days of affliction have taken hold upon me.

And the pains that gnaw me take no rest.

It bindeth me about as the collar of my coat.

And I am become like dust and ashes.

I stand up, and thou gazest at me.

With the might of thy hand thou persecutest me.

And thou dissolvest me in the storm.

And to the house appointed for all living.

Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?

Was not my soul grieved for the needy?

And when I waited for light, there came darkness.

Days of affliction are come upon me.

I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.

And a companion to ostriches.

And my bones are burned with heat.

And my pipe into the voice of them that weep.