1 But now those who are younger than I make sport of me; those whose fathers I would not have put with the dogs of my flocks.

2 Of what use is the strength of their hands to me? all force is gone from them.

3 They are wasted for need of food, biting the dry earth; their only hope of life is in the waste land.

4 They are pulling off the salt leaves from the brushwood, and making a meal of roots.

5 They are sent out from among their townsmen, men are crying after them as thieves

6 They have to get a resting-place in the hollows of the valleys, in holes of the earth and rocks.

7 They make noises like asses among the brushwood; they get together under the thorns.

8 They are sons of shame, and of men without a name, who have been forced out of the land.

9 And now I have become their song, and I am a word of shame to them.

10 I am disgusting to them; they keep away from me, and put marks of shame on me.

11 For he has made loose the cord of my bow, and put me to shame; he has sent down my flag to the earth before me.

12 The lines of his men of war put themselves in order, and make high their ways of destruction against me:

13 They have made waste my roads, with a view to my destruction; his bowmen come round about me;

14 As through a wide broken place in the wall they come on, I am overturned by the shock of their attack.

15 Fears have come on me; my hope is gone like the wind, and my well-being like a cloud.

16 But now my soul is turned to water in me, days of trouble overtake me:

17 The flesh is gone from my bones, and they give me no rest; there is no end to my pains.

18 With great force he takes a grip of my clothing, pulling me by the neck of my coat.

19 Truly God has made me low, even to the earth, and I have become like dust.

20 You give no answer to my cry, and take no note of my prayer.

21 You have become cruel to me; the strength of your hand is hard on me.

22 Lifting me up, you make me go on the wings of the wind; I am broken up by the storm.

23 For I am certain that you will send me back to death, and to the meeting-place ordered for all living.

24 Has not my hand been stretched out in help to the poor? have I not been a saviour to him in his trouble?

25 Have I not been weeping for the crushed? and was not my soul sad for him who was in need?

26 For I was looking for good, and evil came; I was waiting for light, and it became dark.

27 My feelings are strongly moved, and give me no rest; days of trouble have overtaken me.

28 I go about in dark clothing, uncomforted; I get up in the public place, crying out for help.

29 I have become a brother to the jackals, and go about in the company of ostriches.

30 My skin is black and dropping off me; and my bones are burning with the heat of my disease.

31 And my music has been turned to sorrow, and the sound of my pipe into the noise of weeping.

1 But now they that are younger than I have me in derision,

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

2 Yea, the strength of their hands, whereto should it profit me?

Men in whom ripe age is perished.

3 They are gaunt with want and famine;

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

4 They pluck salt-wort by the bushes;

And the roots of the broom are their food.

5 They are driven forth from the midst of men;

They cry after them as after a thief;

6 So that they dwell in frightful valleys,

In holes of the earth and of the rocks.

7 Among the bushes they bray;

Under the nettles they are gathered together.

8 They are children of fools, yea, children of base men;

They were scourged out of the land.

9 And now I am become their song,

Yea, I am a byword unto them.

10 They abhor me, they stand aloof from me,

And spare not to spit in my face.

11 For he hath loosed his cord, and afflicted me;

And they have cast off the bridle before me.

12 Upon my right hand rise the rabble;

They thrust aside my feet,

And they cast up against me their ways of destruction.

13 They mar my path,

They set forward my calamity,

Even men that have no helper.

14 As through a wide breach they come:

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

15 Terrors are turned upon me;

They chase mine honor as the wind;

And my welfare is passed away as a cloud.

16 And now my soul is poured out within me;

Days of affliction have taken hold upon me.

17 In the night season my bones are pierced in me,

And the pains that gnaw me take no rest.

18 By God’s great force is my garment disfigured;

It bindeth me about as the collar of my coat.

19 He hath cast me into the mire,

And I am become like dust and ashes.

20 I cry unto thee, and thou dost not answer me:

I stand up, and thou gazest at me.

21 Thou art turned to be cruel to me;

With the might of thy hand thou persecutest me.

22 Thou liftest me up to the wind, thou causest me to ride upon it;

And thou dissolvest me in the storm.

23 For I know that thou wilt bring me to death,

And to the house appointed for all living.

24 Howbeit doth not one stretch out the hand in his fall?

Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?

25 Did not I weep for him that was in trouble?

Was not my soul grieved for the needy?

26 When I looked for good, then evil came;

And when I waited for light, there came darkness.

27 My heart is troubled, and resteth not;

Days of affliction are come upon me.

28 I go mourning without the sun:

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

29 I am a brother to jackals,

And a companion to ostriches.

30 My skin is black, and falleth from me,

And my bones are burned with heat.

31 Therefore is my harp turned to mourning,

And my pipe into the voice of them that weep.