The wicked remove landmarks;
they seize flocks and pasture them.
They drive away the donkey of the orphan;
they take the widow’s ox for a pledge.
They thrust the needy off the road;
the poor of the earth all hide themselves.
Like wild asses in the desert
they go out to their toil,
scavenging in the waste-land
food for their young.
They reap in a field not their own
and they glean in the vineyard of the wicked.
They lie all night naked, without clothing,
and have no covering in the cold.
They are wet with the rain of the mountains,
and cling to the rock for want of shelter.
There are those who snatch the orphan child from the breast,
and take as a pledge the infant of the poor.
They go about naked, without clothing;
though hungry, they carry the sheaves;
between their terraces they press out oil;
they tread the wine presses, but suffer thirst.
From the city the dying groan,
and the throat of the wounded cries for help;
yet God pays no attention to their prayer.
There are those who rebel against the light,
who are not acquainted with its ways,
and do not stay in its paths.
The murderer rises at dusk
to kill the poor and needy,
and in the night is like a thief.