He pierced my heart with arrows from his quiver.
Arrows do not make it flee; slingstones are like chaff to it.
The arrows of the Almighty are in me, my spirit drinks in their poison; God’s terrors are marshaled against me.
Their quivers are like an open grave; all of them are mighty warriors.
Like an enemy he has strung his bow; his right hand is ready. Like a foe he has slain all who were pleasing to the eye; he has poured out his wrath like fire on the tent of Daughter Zion.
“I will heap calamities on them and spend my arrows against them.