You hold my eyelids open— I am so troubled—I cannot speak.
I lie awake, like a lonely bird on a roof.
I remember the days of old. I meditate on all You have done. I ponder the work of Your hands.
For the music director, a psalm of the sons of Korah, a contemplative song.
Awake, awake, put on strength, O arm of Adonai, awake, as in days of old, the generations of long ago. Was it not You who cut Rahab in pieces, who pierced the dragon?
“Remember the days of antiquity, understand the years across generations. Ask your father and he will tell you, your elders and they will say to you.
