Pour'd out to him my plaint, to him my trouble I exprest.
Ye people, place your confidence in him continually; Before him pour ye out your heart: God is our refuge high.
My soul is poured out in me, when this I think upon; Because that with the multitude I heretofore had gone: With them into God's house I went, with voice of joy and praise; Yea, with the multitude that kept the solemn holy days.
To thee I'll cry, O Lord, my rock; hold not thy peace to me; Lest like those that to pit descend I by thy silence be.