O , you misled me, and I allowed myself to be misled. You are stronger than I am, and you overpowered me. Now I am mocked every day; everyone laughs at me.
When I speak, the words burst out. “Violence and destruction!” I shout. So these messages from the have made me a household joke.
But if I say I’ll never mention the or speak in his name, his word burns in my heart like a fire. It’s like a fire in my bones! I am worn out trying to hold it in! I can’t do it!
I have heard the many rumors about me. They call me “The Man Who Lives in Terror.” They threaten, “If you say anything, we will report it.” Even my old friends are watching me, waiting for a fatal slip. “He will trap himself,” they say, “and then we will get our revenge on him.”
But the stands beside me like a great warrior. Before him my persecutors will stumble. They cannot defeat me. They will fail and be thoroughly humiliated. Their dishonor will never be forgotten.
O of Heaven’s Armies, you test those who are righteous, and you examine the deepest thoughts and secrets. Let me see your vengeance against them, for I have committed my cause to you.
Sing to the ! Praise the ! For though I was poor and needy, he rescued me from my oppressors.
Yet I curse the day I was born! May no one celebrate the day of my birth.
I curse the messenger who told my father, “Good news—you have a son!”
Let him be destroyed like the cities of old that the overthrew without mercy. Terrify him all day long with battle shouts,
because he did not kill me at birth. Oh, that I had died in my mother’s womb, that her body had been my grave!
Why was I ever born? My entire life has been filled with trouble, sorrow, and shame.