For my soul is full of troubles: And my life draweth nigh unto the grave.
Their soul abhorreth all manner of meat; And they draw near unto the gates of death.
He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: Their soul is melted because of trouble.
In the day of my trouble I sought the Lord: My sore ran in the night, and ceased not: My soul refused to be comforted.
Yea, his soul draweth near unto the grave, And his life to the destroyers.
Hear the right, O LORD, attend unto my cry, Give ear unto my prayer, that goeth not out of feigned lips.