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1 Wo to me! for I was as the gatherings of the fruit harvest, as the gleanings of the vintage, no cluster to eat: my soul desired the first ripe fig. 2 The merciful one perished from the earth, and none upright among men: they all will lie in wait for bloods; they will hunt each his brother with a net. 3 For doing evil with the hands to do well, the chief asking, and the judge, for peace; and the great one, he spake the mischief of his soul: and they will entangle it. 4 Their good as the thorn, the upright more than the thorn-hedge: the day of thy watchings and thy reviewings came; now shall be their perplexity. Micah 7:1-4, Smith's Literal Translation. Public domain.
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