In my distress I groan aloud and am reduced to skin and bones.
They spring up like flowers and wither away; like fleeting shadows, they do not endure.
I am nothing but skin and bones; I have escaped only by the skin of my teeth.
I am worn out from my groaning. All night long I flood my bed with weeping and drench my couch with tears.
Away from me, all you who do evil, for the Lord has heard my weeping.
In the morning it springs up new, but by evening it is dry and withered.
A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.
But now they are blacker than soot; they are not recognized in the streets. Their skin has shriveled on their bones; it has become as dry as a stick.
This went on year after year. Whenever Hannah went up to the house of the Lord, her rival provoked her till she wept and would not eat.