Look away from off him that he may cease, Till he enjoy as an hireling his day.
Are not my days few? Cease then, and put from me, And I brighten up a little,
For there is of a tree hope, if it be cut down, That again it doth change, That its tender branch doth not cease.
I have wasted away -- not to the age do I live. Cease from me, for my days `are' vanity.
How long dost Thou not look from me? Thou dost not desist till I swallow my spittle.
Look from me, and I brighten up before I go and am not!
And now hath Jehovah spoken, saying, `In three years, as years of an hireling, Lightly esteemed is the honour of Moab, With all the great multitude, And the remnant `is' little, small, not mighty!'