JuliaSmith(i)
1 Wo to me! for I was as the gatherings of the fruit harvest, as the gleanings of the vintage, no cluster to eat: my soul desired the first ripe fig.
2 The merciful one perished from the earth, and none upright among men: they all will lie in wait for bloods; they will hunt each his brother with a net.
3 For doing evil with the hands to do well, the chief asking, and the judge, for peace; and the great one, he spake the mischief of his soul: and they will entangle it
4 Their good as the thorn, the upright more than the thorn-hedge: the day of thy watchings and thy reviewings came; now shall be their perplexity.