Job 30:1-12

“But now they mock at me, men younger than I, Whose fathers I disdained to put with the dogs of my flock. Indeed, what profit is the strength of their hands to me? Their vigor has perished. They are gaunt from want and famine, Fleeing late to the wilderness, desolate and waste, Who pluck mallow by the bushes, And broom tree roots for their food. They were driven out from among men, They shouted at them as at a thief. They had to live in the clefts of the valleys, In caves of the earth and the rocks. Among the bushes they brayed, Under the nettles they nestled. They were sons of fools, Yes, sons of vile men; They were scourged from the land. “And now I am their taunting song; Yes, I am their byword. They abhor me, they keep far from me; They do not hesitate to spit in my face. Because He has loosed my bowstring and afflicted me, They have cast off restraint before me. At my right hand the rabble arises; They push away my feet, And they raise against me their ways of destruction.