Reproach hath broke my heart; I'm full of grief: I look'd for one To pity me, but none I found; comforters found I none.
I look'd on my right hand, and view'd, but none to know me were; All refuge failed me, no man did for my soul take care.
Our soul is fill'd with scorn of those that at their ease abide, And with the insolent contempt of those that swell in pride.
'Tis as a sword within my bones, when my foes me upbraid; Ev'n when by them, Where is thy God? 'tis daily to me said.
My God, my soul's cast down in me; thee therefore mind I will From Jordan's land, the Hermonites, and ev'n from Mizar hill.