CXXXVI
What the wise announce unto us,
Their fathers did not withhold it from them;
Unto them alone the land was given,
And no stranger passed among them.[220]
CXXXVII
The wicked man travaileth all his days with pain,
And few are the years appointed to the oppressor:
A sound of dread is in his ears:
In prosperity the destroyer shall overtake him.
CXXXVIII
He has no hope of return out of darkness,
And he is waited for by the sword.
The day of gloom shall terrify him,
Distress and anguish shall fasten upon him.
CXXXIX
For he stretched out his arm against God,
And girded himself against the Almighty:
Rushing upon him with a stiff neck,
Guarded by the thick bosses of his buckler.
CXL
The glow shall dry up his branches,
And his blossom shall be snapped by the storm-wind.
Let him not trust in vanity—he is deluded,
For his barter[221] shall prove worthless.