From the sole of the foot--unto the head, There is no soundness in it, Wound, and bruise, and fresh smiting! They have not been closed nor bound, Nor have they softened with ointment.
and a certain man, being lame from the womb of his mother, was being carried, whom they were laying every day at the gate of the temple, called Beautiful, to ask a kindness from those entering into the temple,
He raiseth from the dust the poor, From a dunghill He lifteth up the needy, To cause them to sit with nobles, Yea, a throne of honour He doth cause them to inherit, For to Jehovah are the fixtures of earth, And He setteth on them the habitable world.