My skin is black upon me, and my bones are burned with heat.
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth, and girded me with gladness;
A merry heart doeth good like a medicine: but a broken spirit drieth the bones.
From above hath he sent fire into my bones, and it prevaileth against them: he hath spread a net for my feet, he hath turned me back: he hath made me desolate and faint all the day.
Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.