Psalm 38:7 - Psalms of David in Metre 1650 (Scottish Psalter)

For a disease that loathsome is so fills my loins with pain, That in my weak and weary flesh no soundness doth remain.

More versions

For my loins are filled with a loathsome disease: And there is no soundness in my flesh.

For my loins are filled with burning; and there is no soundness in my flesh.

For my loins are filled with burning; And there is no soundness in my flesh.

My insides are burning up; there’s nothing in my body that isn’t broken.

So then, truly man passes by like an image; even so, he is disquieted in vain. He stores up, and he knows not for whom he will gather these things.

Surely man passeth as an image: yea, and he is disquieted in vain. He storeth up: and he knoweth not for whom he shall gather these things.

For, as an hearth, my bones are burnt, my days, like smoke, do waste.

Mischief, say they, cleaves fast to him; he li'th, and shall not rise.