The dead praise not Jah, Nor any going down to silence.
`What gain `is' in my blood? In my going down unto corruption? Doth dust thank Thee? doth it declare Thy truth?
O Jehovah, let me not be ashamed, For I have called Thee, let the wicked be ashamed, Let them become silent to Sheol.
For there is not in death Thy memorial, In Sheol, who doth give thanks to Thee?
I have been weary with my sighing, I meditate through all the night `on' my bed, With my tear my couch I waste.
The feet of His saints He keepeth, And the wicked in darkness are silent, For not by power doth man become mighty.