19 Wo to me for my breaking, Grievious hath been my smiting, And I said, Only, this [is] my sickness, and I bear it.
19
Woe to me because of my injury! My wound is incurable! Yet I said to myself, “This is my sickness, and I must endure it.”
20 My tent hath been spoiled, And all my cords have been broken, My sons have gone out from me, and they are not, There is none stretching out any more my tent, And raising up my curtains.
20
My tent is destroyed; all its ropes are snapped. My children are gone from me and are no more; no one is left now to pitch my tent or to set up my shelter.
Young's Literal Translation is in the public domain.