There is one who has no one else, neither son nor brother, yet there is no end to all his toil. His eyes are not content with riches. “So, for whom am I toiling, and depriving myself of prosperity?” This too is meaningless— a grievous task!
Indeed, because this wine betrays, a proud man never rests. He enlarges his desire like Sheol, Like death, he is never satisfied. So he gathers to himself all nations, and collects all peoples for himself.
“You have looked for much, but indeed, there is little. What you have brought home, I have blown away. Why is this?”—it is a declaration of Adonai-Tzva’ot—“because My House lies in ruins, while you are running, each to his own house.