Chapter 30

  'But now those who are younger than I, have me in derision, Whose fathers I would have disdained to put with my sheep dogs.  

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  Of what use is the strength of their hands to me, Men in whom ripe age has perished?  

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  They are gaunt from lack and famine. They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of waste and desolation.  

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  They pluck salt herbs by the bushes. The roots of the broom are their food.  

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  They are driven forth from the midst of men; They cry after them as after a thief;  

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  So that they dwell in frightful valleys, And in holes of the earth and of the rocks.  

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  Among the bushes they bray; And under the nettles they are gathered together.  

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  They are children of fools, yes, children of base men. They were flogged out of the land.  

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  'Now I have become their song. Yes, I am a byword to them.  

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  They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, And don't hesitate to spit in my face.  

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  For he has loosed his cord, and afflicted me; And they have thrown off restraint before me.  

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  On my right hand rise the rabble. They thrust aside my feet, They cast up against me their ways of destruction.  

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  They mar my path, They set forward my calamity, Without anyone's help.  

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  As through a wide breach they come, In the midst of the ruin they roll themselves in.  

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  Terrors are turned on me. They chase my honor as the wind. My welfare has passed away as a cloud.  

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  'Now my soul is poured out within me. Days of affliction have taken hold on me.  

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  In the night season my bones are pierced in me, And the pains that gnaw me take no rest.  

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  By great force is my garment disfigured. It binds me about as the collar of my coat.  

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  He has cast me into the mire. I have become like dust and ashes.  

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  I cry to you, and you do not answer me. I stand up, and you gaze at me.  

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  You have turned to be cruel to me. With the might of your hand you persecute me.  

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  You lift me up to the wind, and drive me with it. You dissolve me in the storm.  

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  For I know that you will bring me to death, To the house appointed for all living.  

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  'However doesn't one stretch out a hand in his fall? Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?  

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  Didn't I weep for him who was in trouble? Wasn't my soul grieved for the needy?  

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  When I looked for good, then evil came; When I waited for light, there came darkness.  

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  My heart is troubled, and doesn't rest. Days of affliction have come on me.  

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  I go mourning without the sun. I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.  

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  I am a brother to jackals, And a companion to ostriches.  

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  My skin grows black and peels from me. My bones are burned with heat.  

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  Therefore is my harp turned to mourning, And my pipe into the voice of those who weep.  

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