O thou who inquirest about my peace, draw nigh, and hearken! My roaming is as the sea’s. If thy heart were as adamant, it would melt from my affliction. How canst thou think I am alive, while thou knowest my languishment? Alas! I dwell in the midst of a people that thinks my right hand is my left. I am interred, but not in a desert—my coffin is within my house. I am motherless and fatherless, distressed and lonely, young and poor. Alone, without a brother, I have no other friend but my thoughts. I mix my flowing tears with blood, and then my wine is mixed with tears. I thirst for a friend, but I shall be consumed ere my thirst is slaked. The heavens and their host prevent me from attaining my desire. I am counted like a stranger or sojourner, my dwelling is amongst ostriches; among the crooked and the fools, who think that they are very wise: the one gives to drink the venom of asps, the other, flattering, smooths the head; but he lays an ambush in his heart, though he says to thee: ‘I pray thee, my lord.’ They are a people whose fathers I would disdain to set with the dogs of my flock. Their faces never blush with shame, unless they are dyed with scarlet. Like giants are they in their sight, in my sight they are like locusts. When I take up my parable, they chide me, as they would chide a Greek: ‘Speak a tongue that we understand, for this speech is of an Ashkelonite.’ I shall now crush them as mire, for my tongue is like a sharp spear. If their ear is deaf to me, of what avail can be my bell? Unworthy are their necks to be adorned with the gold of my crescents. Oh that the fools would open their mouth to receive the spring-rain of my clouds! My perfume would I drop on them, my saffron and my cinnamon. Woe unto knowledge, woe to me! In the midst of such a people do I dwell! They count the knowledge of God as witchcraft and as sorcery. I therefore lament and wail, I lie all night in sackcloth. I am bowed down as a bulrush, and fast on the second and fifth days of every week. What shall I hope for, while I live? in what then shall I put my faith? Mine eye roams about in this world, but it beholds not what I desire. Oh death is precious in my sight, because I disdain this earth. If my heart turns to her ways, may my tongue cleave to my palate! My soul rejects her glory, for her honor is disgrace in mine eyes. I never shall rejoice in her, my pride shall not exult in her, even if the constellations would call to me: ‘Turn in, and sit with us, O lord.’ For this earth has become to me as a yoke upon my neck. What else is left me in this world, except to endure my blindness? My soul complains aloud, for it found not as yet my abode. I am weary of my life, and loathe that my flesh should lord over me. For its rejoicing is my grief; and when it sorrows, I rejoice. I seek to know, and I shall find true knowledge when my flesh and vigor are gone. For after grief comes relief, after leanness comes my nourishment.