I am nothing but skin and bones because of my loud groans.
He comes up like a flower; then he withers. He is like a fleeting shadow; he doesn’t stay long.
I am skin and bones, and I have escaped only by the skin of my teeth.
I am worn out from my groaning. My eyes flood my bed every night. I soak my couch with tears.
Get away from me, all you troublemakers, because the Lord has heard the sound of my crying.
In the morning they blossom and sprout. In the evening they wither and dry up.
A joyful heart is good medicine, but depression drains one’s strength.
Their faces are ⌞now⌟ blacker than soot. No one recognizes them on the streets. Their skin has shriveled on their bones. It has become as dry as bark.
This happened year after year. Whenever Hannah went to the Lord’s house, Peninnah would make her miserable, and Hannah would cry and not eat.
