New Revised Standard (NRS)
Հին Կտակարան
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Նոր Կտակարան
1 "But now they make sport of me, those…
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"But now they make sport of me, those who are younger than I, whose fathers I would have disdained to set with the dogs of my flock.
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What could I gain from the strength of their hands? All their vigor is gone.
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Through want and hard hunger they gnaw the dry and desolate ground,
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they pick mallow and the leaves of bushes, and to warm themselves the roots of broom.
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They are driven out from society; people shout after them as after a thief.
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In the gullies of wadis they must live, in holes in the ground, and in the rocks.
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Among the bushes they bray; under the nettles they huddle together.
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A senseless, disreputable brood, they have been whipped out of the land.
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"And now they mock me in song; I am a byword to them.
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They abhor me, they keep aloof from me; they do not hesitate to spit at the sight of me.
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Because God has loosed my bowstring and humbled me, they have cast off restraint in my presence.
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On my right hand the rabble rise up; they send me sprawling, and build roads for my ruin.
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They break up my path, they promote my calamity; no one restrains them.
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As through a wide breach they come; amid the crash they roll on.
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Terrors are turned upon me; my honor is pursued as by the wind, and my prosperity has passed away like a cloud.
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"And now my soul is poured out within me; days of affliction have taken hold of me.
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The night racks my bones, and the pain that gnaws me takes no rest.
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With violence he seizes my garment; he grasps me by the collar of my tunic.
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He has cast me into the mire, and I have become like dust and ashes.
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I cry to you and you do not answer me; I stand, and you merely look at me.
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You have turned cruel to me; with the might of your hand you persecute me.
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You lift me up on the wind, you make me ride on it, and you toss me about in the roar of the storm.
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I know that you will bring me to death, and to the house appointed for all living.
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"Surely one does not turn against the needy, when in disaster they cry for help.
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Did I not weep for those whose day was hard? Was not my soul grieved for the poor?
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But when I looked for good, evil came; and when I waited for light, darkness came.
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My inward parts are in turmoil, and are never still; days of affliction come to meet me.
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I go about in sunless gloom; I stand up in the assembly and cry for help.
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I am a brother of jackals, and a companion of ostriches.
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My skin turns black and falls from me, and my bones burn with heat.
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My lyre is turned to mourning, and my pipe to the voice of those who weep.