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"But now those who are younger than I, have me in derision, Whose fathers I would have disdained to put with my sheep dogs.
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Of what use is the strength of their hands to me, Men in whom ripe age has perished?
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They are gaunt from lack and famine. They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of waste and desolation.
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They pluck salt herbs by the bushes. 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, And in holes of the earth and of the rocks.
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Among the bushes they bray; And under the nettles they are gathered together.
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They are children of fools, yes, children of base men. They were flogged out of the land.
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"Now I have become their song. Yes, I am a byword to them.
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They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, And don't hesitate to spit in my face.
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For he has loosed his cord, and afflicted me; And they have thrown off restraint before me.
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On my right hand rise the rabble. They thrust aside my feet, They cast up against me their ways of destruction.
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They mar my path, They set forward my calamity, Without anyone's help.
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As through a wide breach they come, In the midst of the ruin they roll themselves in.
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Terrors are turned on me. They chase my honor as the wind. My welfare has passed away as a cloud.
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"Now my soul is poured out within me. Days of affliction have taken hold on 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 great force is my garment disfigured. It binds me about as the collar of my coat.
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He has cast me into the mire. I have become like dust and ashes.
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I cry to you, and you do not answer me. I stand up, and you gaze at me.
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You have turned to be cruel to me. With the might of your hand you persecute me.
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You lift me up to the wind, and drive me with it. You dissolve me in the storm.
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For I know that you will bring me to death, To the house appointed for all living.
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"However doesn't one stretch out a hand in his fall? Or in his calamity therefore cry for help?
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Didn't I weep for him who was in trouble? Wasn't my soul grieved for the needy?
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When I looked for good, then evil came; When I waited for light, there came darkness.
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My heart is troubled, and doesn't rest. Days of affliction have come on 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 grows black and peels from me. My bones are burned with heat.
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Therefore is my harp turned to mourning, And my pipe into the voice of those who weep.
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