1 “But now they mock at me, men [a]younger than I,
Whose fathers I disdained to put with the dogs of my flock.
Their vigor has perished.
Fleeing late to the wilderness, desolate and waste,
And broom tree roots for their food.
They shouted at them as at a thief.
In [d]caves of the earth and the rocks.
Under the nettles they nestled.
Yes, sons of vile men;
They were scourged from the land.
Yes, I am their byword.
They do not hesitate to spit in my face.
They have cast off restraint before me.
They push away my feet,
And they raise against me their ways of destruction.
They promote my calamity;
They have no helper.
Under the ruinous storm they roll along.
They pursue my honor as the wind,
And my prosperity has passed like a cloud.
The days of affliction take hold of me.
And my gnawing pains take no rest.
It binds me about as the collar of my coat.
And I have become like dust and ashes.
I stand up, and You regard me.
With the strength of Your hand You oppose me.
You spoil my success.
And to the house appointed for all living.
If they cry out when He destroys it.
Has not my soul grieved for the poor?
And when I waited for light, then came darkness.
Days of affliction confront me.
I stand up in the assembly and cry out for help.
And a companion of ostriches.
My bones burn with fever.
And my flute to the voice of those who weep.