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.
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.
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.
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.
Believe not a friend, and trust not in a prince: keep the doors of thy mouth from her that sleepeth in thy bosom.
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.
But I will look towards the Lord, I will wait for God, my saviour: my God will hear me.