CLV(i)
1 Yet now they make sport of me, Men junior to me in days, Whose fathers I would have rejected To set with the dogs of my flock.
2 Even the vigor of their hands, what was that to me? Their strength had entirely perished.
3 In lack and in stark starvation They were gnawing on growth of arid places, Yesternight's ruination and wasteness.
4 They were plucking the orach among the shrubs, And the root of the broom was their bread.
5 From society they were driven out; Men shouted after them as after a thief.
6 In the craters of the watercourses they tabernacled, In holes of dirt and caverns.
7 Among the shrubs they brayed; Under the prickly acanthus they were huddled together.
8 Sons of decadence, even sons of those without a name, They were cut off from the land.
9 And now I have become their musical accompaniment, And I have become a mocking declaration of theirs.
10 They abhor me; they keep far from me, Yet they do not keep back their spit from my face.
11 Now that He has unloosed His cord about me and is humbling me, They have let the restraining bridle go in my presence.
12 On the right hand the vile brood rise up; They have let my feet go, And they heap up their paths of calamity against me.