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Psalm 6:6

Bible in Basic English 1965

The voice of my sorrow is a weariness to me; all the night I make my bed wet with weeping; it is watered by the drops flowing from my eyes.

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23 Cross References  

I am tired with my crying; my throat is burning: my eyes are wasted with waiting for my God.

My tears have been my food day and night, while they keep saying to me, Where is your God?

Lord, all my desire is before you; my sorrow is not kept secret from you.

My eyes are wasted with weeping, the inmost parts of my body are deeply moved, my inner parts are drained out on the earth, for the destruction of the daughter of my people; because of the young children and babies at the breast who are falling without strength in the open squares of the town.

For these things I am weeping; my eye is streaming with water; because the comforter who might give me new life is far from me: my children are made waste, because the hater is strong.

She is sorrowing bitterly in the night, and her face is wet with weeping; among all her lovers she has no comforter: all her friends have been false to her, they have become her haters.

Even today my outcry is bitter; his hand is hard on my sorrow.

My friends make sport of me; to God my eyes are weeping,

So I have for my heritage months of pain to no purpose, and nights of weariness are given to me.

And went in and took her place at the back of him, near his feet, weeping, so that his feet were washed with the drops from her eyes, and with her hair she made them dry, and kissing his feet she put the perfume on them.

And you are to say this word to them, Let my eyes be streaming with water night and day, and let it not be stopped; for the virgin daughter of my people is wounded with a great wound, with a very bitter blow.

My eyes are wasting away because of my trouble: Lord, my cry has gone up to you every day, my hands are stretched out to you.

Let my prayer come to your ears, O Lord, and give attention to my cry, make an answer to my weeping: for my time here is short before you, and in a little time I will be gone, like all my fathers.

My soul is tired of life; I will let my sad thoughts go free in words; my soul will make a bitter outcry.

Give ear to me, O Lord, and have mercy on me: Lord, be my helper.

Will the story of your mercy be given in the house of the dead? will news of your faith come to the place of destruction?

The dead do not give praise to the Lord; or those who go down to the underworld.

For the underworld is not able to give you praise, death gives you no honour: for those who go down into the underworld there is no hope in your mercy.




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