Scarcely are they planted, scarcely are they sown, scarcely their stem takes root in the earth, when He blows on them and they wither, and a storm carries them off as stubble.
These people are hidden rocky reefs at your love feasts—shamelessly feasting with you, tending only to themselves. They are waterless clouds, carried along by winds; fruitless trees in late autumn, doubly dead, uprooted;