1"But now those who are younger than I have me in derision, whose fathers I would have disdained to put with my sheep dogs.¶ 2Of what use is the strength of their hands to me, 3They are gaunt from lack and famine. 4They pluck salt herbs by the bushes. 5They are driven out from the midst of men. 6So that they dwell in frightful valleys, 7Among the bushes they bray; 8They are children of fools, yes, children of base men. 9"Now I have become their song. 10They abhor me, they stand aloof from me, 11For he has untied his cord, and afflicted me; 12On my right hand rise the rabble. 13They mar my path, 14As through a wide breach they come, 15Terrors have turned on me. 16"Now my soul is poured out within me. 17In the night season my bones are pierced in me, 18By great force is my garment disfigured. 19He has cast me into the mire. 20I cry to you, and you do not answer me. 21You have turned to be cruel to me. 22You lift me up to the wind, and drive me with it. 23For I know that you will bring me to death, 24"However doesn't one stretch out a hand in his fall? 25Did I not weep for him who was in trouble? 26When I looked for good, then evil came; 27My heart is troubled, and doesn't rest. 28I go mourning without the sun. 29I am a brother to jackals, 30My skin grows black and peels from me. 31Therefore my harp has turned to mourning,