⁸ Those whom I have known, who have been with me,
    You have gathered like sheaves and cast to the four winds.
They can’t bear to look me in the eye, and they are horrified when they think of me.
    I am in a trap and cannot be free.
⁹ My eyes grow dim, weakened by this sickness;
    it is taking my strength from me.
Like a worn cloth, my hands are unfolded before You daily, O Eternal One.
¹⁰ Are You the miracle-worker for the dead?
    Will they rise from the dark shadows to worship You again?

[pause]