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.
The LORD will save me, and we will sing19 with stringed instruments20 all the days of our lives21 in the temple22 of the LORD.
Isaiah had said, "Prepare a poultice of figs and apply it to the boil, and he will recover."
Hezekiah had asked, "What will be the sign23 that I will go up to the temple of the LORD?"