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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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