3 I -- I have seen the perverse taking root, And I mark his habitation straightway,
4 Far are his sons from safety, And they are bruised in the gate, And there is no deliverer.
5 Whose harvest the hungry doth eat, And even from the thorns taketh it, And the designing swallowed their wealth.
6 For sorrow cometh not forth from the dust, Nor from the ground springeth up misery.
7 For man to misery is born, And the sparks go high to fly.
8 Yet I -- I inquire for God, And for God I give my word,
9 Doing great things, and there is no searching. Wonderful, till there is no numbering.
