He will not enjoy the streams, the rivers flowing with honey and cream.
What he toiled for he must give back uneaten; he will not enjoy the profit from his trading.
For he has oppressed the poor and left them destitute; he has seized houses he did not build.
“Surely he will have no respite from his craving; he cannot save himself by his treasure.
Nothing is left for him to devour; his prosperity will not endure.
In the midst of his plenty, distress will overtake him; the full force of misery will come upon him.
When he has filled his belly, God will vent his burning anger against him and rain down his blows on him.
Though he flees from an iron weapon, a bronze-tipped arrow pierces him.
He pulls it out of his back, the gleaming point out of his liver. Terrors will come over him;
total darkness lies in wait for his treasures. A fire unfanned will consume him and devour what is left in his tent.
The heavens will expose his guilt; the earth will rise up against him.