2. Yea, the strength of their hands, whereto should it profit me? Men in whom ripe age is perished.
3. They are gaunt with want and famine; They gnaw the dry ground, in the gloom of wasteness and desolation.
4. They pluck salt-wort by the bushes; And the roots of the broom are their food.
5. They are driven forth from the midst of men; They cry after them as after a thief;
6. So that they dwell in frightful valleys, In holes of the earth and of the rocks.
7. Among the bushes they bray; Under the nettles they are gathered together.