2.7 KiB
Chapter 30
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But now they mock me, men younger than I am, whose fathers I would have refused to put with my sheep dogs.
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What use to me was the strength of their hands? Their vigor had left them.
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Emaciated from poverty and hunger, they gnawed the dry land, the desolate wasteland by night.
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They plucked mallow among the shrubs, and the roots of the broom tree were their food.
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They were banished from human society; people shouted at them as if they were thieves.
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They are living on the slopes of the wadis, among the rocks and in holes in the ground.
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They bray among the shrubs; they huddle beneath the thistles.
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Foolish men, without even a name. They were forced to leave the land.
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Now I am mocked by their songs; I have become an object of scorn to them.
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They despise me and keep their distance from me; they do not hesitate to spit in my face.
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Because God has loosened my bowstring and oppressed me, they have cast off restraint in my presence.
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The rabble rise up at my right; they trap my feet and construct their siege ramp against me.
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They tear up my path; they contribute to my destruction, without anyone to help them.
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They advance as through a gaping breach; they keep rolling in through the ruins.
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Terrors are turned loose against me; they chase my dignity away like the wind, and my prosperity has passed by like a cloud.
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Now my life is poured out before me, and days of suffering have seized me.
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Night pierces my bones, but my gnawing pains never rest.
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My clothing is distorted with great force; he chokes me by the neck of my garment.
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He throws me into the mud, and I have become like dust and ashes.
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I cry out to you for help, but you do not answer me; when I stand up, you merely look at me.
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You have turned against me with cruelty; you harass me with your strong hand.
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You lift me up on the wind and make me ride it; you scatter me in the storm.
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Yes, I know that you will lead me to death-- the place appointed for all who live.
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Yet no one would stretch out his hand against a ruined person when he cries out to him for help because of his distress.
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Have I not wept for those who have fallen on hard times? Has my soul not grieved for the needy?
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But when I hoped for good, evil came; when I looked for light, darkness came.
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I am churning within and cannot rest; days of suffering confront me.
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I walk about blackened, but not by the sun. I stood in the assembly and cried out for help.
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I have become a brother to jackals and a companion of ostriches.
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My skin blackens and flakes off, and my bones burn with fever.
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My lyre is used for mourning and my flute for the sound of weeping.