“But now they laugh at me, men who are younger than I, whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.
What could I gain from the strength of their hands, men whose vigor is gone?
they pick saltwort and the leaves of bushes, and the roots of the broom tree for their food.
They are driven out from human company; they shout after them as after a thief.
In the gullies of the torrents they must dwell, in holes of the earth and of the rocks.
A senseless, a nameless brood, they have been whipped out of the land.
Because God has loosed my cord and humbled me, they have cast off restraint in my presence.
On my right hand the rabble rise; they push away my feet; they cast up against me their ways of destruction.
They break up my path; they promote my calamity; they need no one to help them.
As through a wide breach they come; amid the crash they roll on.
Terrors are turned upon me; my honor is pursued as by the wind, and my prosperity has passed away like a cloud.
“And now my soul is poured out within me; days of affliction have taken hold of me.
With great force my garment is disfigured; it binds me about like the collar of my tunic.
God has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.
I cry to you for help and you do not answer me; I stand, and you only look at me.
You lift me up on the wind; you make me ride on it, and you toss me about in the roar of the storm.
For I know that you will bring me to death and to the house appointed for all living.
Did not I weep for him whose day was hard? Was not my soul grieved for the needy?
My inward parts are in turmoil and never still; days of affliction come to meet me.
My lyre is turned to mourning, and my pipe to the voice of those who weep.