1
Woe is me, for I am become as one that gleaneth in autumn the grapes of the vintage: there is no cluster to eat, my soul desired the first ripe figs.
2
The holy man is perished out of the earth, and there is none upright among men: they all lie in wait for blood, every one hunteth his brother to death.
3
The evil of their hands they call good: the prince requireth, and the judge is for giving: and the great man hath uttered the desire of his soul, and they have troubled it.
4
He that is best among them, is as a brier, and he that is righteous, as the thorn of the hedge. The day of thy inspection, thy visitation cometh: now shall be their destruction.
5
Believe not a friend, and trust not in a prince: keep the doors of thy mouth from her that sleepeth in thy bosom.
6
For the son dishonoureth the father, and the daughter riseth up against her mother, the daughter in law against her mother in law: and a man’s enemies are they of his own household.
7
But I will look towards the Lord, I will wait for God, my saviour: my God will hear me.
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