"_He hath swallowed down riches; he shall vomit them again: God shall cast them out of his belly. He shall suck the poison of asps; The viper's tongue shall slay him. He shall not look upon the rivers, The flowing streams of honey and butter. That which he toiled for shall he restore, And shall not swallow it down; Not according to the wealth he has gotten Shall he have enjoyment.... There was nothing left that he devoured not; Therefore his prosperity shall not abide. In his richest abundance he shall be in straits; The hand of every miserable one shall come upon him. When he is about to fill his belly God shall cast the fury of His wrath upon him And rain upon him his food._" He has succeeded for a time, concealing or fortifying himself among the mountains. He has store of silver and gold and garments taken by violence, of cattle and sheep captured in the plain. But the district is roused. Little by little he is driven back into the uninhabited desert. His supplies are cut off and he is brought to extremity. His food becomes to him as the gall of asps. With all his ill-gotten wealth he is in straits, for he is hunted from place to place. Not for him now the luxury of the green oasis and the coolness of flowing streams. He is an outlaw, in constant danger of discovery. His children wander to places where they are not known and beg for bread. Reduced to abject fear, he restores the goods he had taken by violence, trying to buy off the enmity of his pursuers. Then come the last skirmish, the clash of weapons, ignominious death. "_He shall flee from the iron weapon, And the bow of brass shall pierce him through. He draweth it forth; it cometh out of his body: Yea, the glittering shaft cometh out of his gall. Terrors are upon him, All darkness is laid up for his treasures; A fire not blown shall consume him, It shall devour him that is left in his tent. The heaven shall reveal his iniquity, And the earth shall rise against him. The increase of his house shall depart, Be washed away in the day of His wrath. This is the lot of a wicked man from God, And the heritage appointed to him by God._" Vain is resistance when he is brought to bay by his enemies. A moment of overwhelming terror, and he is gone. His tent blazes up and is consumed, as if the breath of God made hot the avenging flame. Within it his wife and children perish. Heaven seems to have called for his destruction and earth to have obeyed the summons. So the craft and strength of the free-booter, living on the flocks and harvests of industrious people, are measured vainly against the indignation of God, who has ordained the doom of wickedness.