Chapter 30

  But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, Whose fathers I disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.  

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  Yea, the strength of their hands, whereto should it profit me? Men in whom ripe age is perished.  

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  They are gaunt with want and famine; They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of wasteness and desolation.  

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  They pluck salt-wort by the bushes; And 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, In holes of the earth and of the rocks.  

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  Among the bushes they bray; Under the nettles they are gathered together.  

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  [They are] children of fools, yea, children of base men; They were scourged out of the land.  

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  And now I am become their song, Yea, I am a byword unto them.  

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  They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, And spare not to spit in my face.  

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  For he hath loosed his cord, and afflicted me; And they have cast off the bridle before me.  

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

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  They mar my path, They set forward my calamity, [Even] men that have no helper.  

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  As through a wide breach they come: In the midst of the ruin they roll themselves [upon me].  

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  Terrors are turned upon me; They chase mine honor as the wind; And my welfare is passed away as a cloud.  

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  And now my soul is poured out within me; Days of affliction have taken hold upon 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 [God's] great force is my garment disfigured; It bindeth me about as the collar of my coat.  

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  He hath cast me into the mire, And I am become like dust and ashes.  

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  I cry unto thee, and thou dost not answer me: I stand up, and thou gazest at me.  

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  Thou art turned to be cruel to me; With the might of thy hand thou persecutest me.  

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  Thou liftest me up to the wind, thou causest me to ride [upon it]; And thou dissolvest me in the storm.  

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  For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, And to the house appointed for all living.  

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  Howbeit doth not one stretch out the hand in his fall? Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?  

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  Did not I weep for him that was in trouble? Was not my soul grieved for the needy?  

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

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  My heart is troubled, and resteth not; Days of affliction are come upon 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 is black, [and falleth] from me, And my bones are burned with heat.  

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  Therefore is my harp [turned] to mourning, And my pipe into the voice of them that weep.  

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