I have been feeble and smitten--unto excess, I have roared from disquietude of heart.
For before my food, my sighing cometh, And poured out as waters are my roarings.
My bowels have boiled, and have not ceased, Gone before me have days of affliction.
Mourning I have gone without the sun, I have risen, in an assembly I cry.
When I have kept silence, become old have my bones, Through my roaring all the day.
We make a noise as bears--all of us, And as doves we coo sorely; We wait for judgment, and there is none, For salvation--it hath been far from us.