My bowels, my bowels, are in pain, the senses of my heart are troubled within me. I will not hold my peace, for my soul hath heard the sound of the trumpet, the cry of battle.
I attended and hearkened; no man speaketh what is good. There is none that doth penance for his sin, saying: What have I done? They are all turned to their own course, as a horse rushing to the battle.