My soul is also sore vexed: but thou, O LORD, how long?
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off 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 putrifying sores: they have not been closed, neither bound up, neither mollified with ointment.