For our soul is bowed down to the dust: Our body cleaveth unto the earth.
My soul cleaveth unto the dust: Quicken thou me according to thy word.
They that did feed delicately are desolate in the streets: They that were brought up in scarlet embrace dunghills.
and I will put it into the hand of them that afflict thee, that have said to thy soul, Bow down, that we may go over; and thou hast laid thy back as the ground, and as the street, to them that go over.
Wherefore hidest thou thy face, And holdest me for thine enemy?
Why standest thou afar off, O Jehovah? Why hidest thou thyself in times of trouble?
I am afflicted and ready to die from my youth up: While I suffer thy terrors I am distracted.