My soul also is sore troubled: And thou, O Jehovah, how long?
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing; Thou hast loosed my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness;
If I were hungry, I would not tell thee; For the world is mine, and the fulness thereof.
From the sole of the foot even unto the head there is no soundness in it; (but) wounds, and bruises, and fresh stripes: they have not been closed, neither bound up, neither mollified with oil.