1 But now people much younger than me laugh at me; people whose fathers I would not put to work with my sheepdogs. 2 They are too weak to be any use to me; they're all worn-out. 3 Thin through hunger and want, they try to eat the dry ground in the dark, desolate wilderness. 4 There they pick desert herbs and the leaves of bushes, and eat the roots of broom trees. 5 They were driven out of the community. 6 People shouted after them as if they were thieves. They have to live in dangerous ravines, in caves and among the rocks. 7 They shout out like animals among the bushes; they huddle together in the weeds for shelter. 8 They are foolish, nameless people that have been driven from the land.

9 Yet now they mock me in their songs; I have become a joke to them! 10 They despise and shun me; they don't hesitate to spit in my face. 11 God has made my bowstring loose* and humbled me. 12 The rabble rise up against me, they send me running;† like a city under siege they devise ways to destroy me.‡ 13 They cut off my way of escape; they bring about my downfall and do this without anyone's help. 14 They come in through a wide breach; they rush in as the wall comes tumbling down.§ 15 Terrors overcome me; my honor is blown away by the wind; my salvation vanishes like a cloud.

16 And now my life is ebbing away; every day despair* grips me. 17 At night my bones are in agony; the pain gnaws at me and never stops. 18 God grabs me roughly by my clothes; he pulls me by the collar of my shirt. 19 He has thrown me in the mud; he has humbled me like dust and ashes. 20 God, I cry to you but you don't answer; I stand before you, but you don't even notice me. 21 You have turned cruel to me; you use your power to make me suffer. 22 You pick me up and blow me along in the wind; tossing me about in the whirlwind. 23 I know you're taking me to my death, to the place where all the living go. 24 Who would want to kick a man when he is down, † when they cry for help in their time of trouble? 25 Didn't I weep for those having hard times? Didn't I grieve at what the poor suffered? 26 But when I looked for good, only evil came, and when I waited for the light, all that came was darkness. 27 Inside I am in turmoil,‡ it never stops; I face days of despair. 28 I am so depressed; seeing the sun doesn't help.§ I stand up in the assembly and cry for help. 29 I am like a brother to the jackals, a companion to owls.* 30 My skin turns black on me; and my bones burn within me. 31 My lyre only plays sad songs, and my pipe is the voice of those who weep.