I -- I have seen the perverse taking root, And I mark his habitation straightway,
Light he `is' on the face of the waters, Vilified is their portion in the earth, He turneth not the way of vineyards.
For what `is' the hope of the profane, When He doth cut off? When God doth cast off his soul?
Yea, I have not suffered my mouth to sin, To ask with an oath his life.
For His blessed ones do possess the land, And His reviled ones are cut off.
Their tower is desolated, In their tents there is no dweller.
When the wicked flourish as a herb, And blossom do all workers of iniquity -- For their being destroyed for ever and ever!
for it hath been written in the book of Psalms: Let his lodging-place become desolate, and let no one be dwelling in it, and his oversight let another take.