My tongue to my mouth's roof let cleave, if I do thee forget, Jerusalem, and thee above my chief joy do not set.
My strength is like a potsherd dry'd; my tongue it cleaveth fast Unto my jaws; and to the dust of death thou brought me hast.
For in thy courts one day excels a thousand; rather in My God's house will I keep a door, than dwell in tents of sin.