Psalm 88:3

Psalms of David in Metre 1650 (Scottish Psalter)

For troubles great do fill my soul; my life draws nigh the grave.

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All kind of meat their soul abhors; they to death's gates draw near.

They mount to heav'n, then to the depths they do go down again; Their soul doth faint and melt away with trouble and with pain.

I in my trouble sought the Lord, my sore by night did run, And ceased not; my grieved soul did consolation shun.

Lord, hear the right, attend my cry, unto my pray'r give heed, That doth not in hypocrisy from feigned lips proceed.