I am feeble and sore broken: I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart.
For my sighing cometh before I eat, and my roarings are poured out like the waters.
My bowels boiled, and rested not: the days of affliction prevented me.
I went mourning without the sun: I stood up, and I cried in the congregation.
When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long.
We roar all like bears, and mourn sore like doves: we look for judgment, but there is none; for salvation, but it is far off from us.