I cried like a swift or thrush, I moaned like a mourning dove.1 My eyes grew weak2 as I looked to the heavens. I am troubled; O Lord, come to my aid!"315
But what can I say?4 He has spoken to me, and he himself has done this.5 I will walk humbly6 all my years because of this anguish of my soul.716
Lord, by such things men live; and my spirit finds life in them too. You restored me to health and let me live.817
Surely it was for my benefit9 that I suffered such anguish.10 In your love you kept me from the pit11 of destruction; you have put all my sins12 behind your back.1318
For the gravea14 cannot praise you, death cannot sing your praise;15 those who go down to the pit16 cannot hope for your faithfulness.
The living, the living--they praise17 you, as I am doing today; fathers tell their children18 about your faithfulness.