1 But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, Whose fathers I disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.
2 Yea, the strength of their hands, whereto should it profit me? Men in whom ripe age is perished.
3 They are gaunt with want and famine; They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of wasteness and desolation.
4 They pluck salt-wort by the bushes; And the roots of the broom are their food.
5 They are driven forth from the midst [of men]; They cry after them as after a thief;
6 So that they dwell in frightful valleys, In holes of the earth and of the rocks.
7 Among the bushes they bray; Under the nettles they are gathered together.
