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Psalm 38:6 - Revised Standard Version

I am utterly bowed down and prostrate; all the day I go about mourning.

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King James Version (Oxford) 1769

I am troubled; I am bowed down greatly; I go mourning all the day long.

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Amplified Bible - Classic Edition

I am bent and bowed down greatly; I go about mourning all the day long.

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American Standard Version (1901)

I am pained and bowed down greatly; I go mourning all the day long.

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Common English Bible

I am hunched over, completely down; I wander around all day long, sad.

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Catholic Public Domain Version

Behold, you have made my days measurable, and, before you, my substance is as nothing. Yet truly, all things are vanity: every living man.

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Douay-Rheims version of The Bible - 1752 version

Behold thou hast made my days measurable: and my substance is as nothing before thee. And indeed all things are vanity: every man living.

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Psalm 38:6
13 Tagairtí Cros  

I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.


My flesh is clothed with worms and dirt; my skin hardens, then breaks out afresh.


Some were sick through their sinful ways, and because of their iniquities suffered affliction;


The Lord upholds all who are falling, and raises up all who are bowed down.


For my life is spent with sorrow, and my years with sighing; my strength fails because of my misery, and my bones waste away.


as though I grieved for my friend or my brother; I went about as one who laments his mother, bowed down and in mourning.


Why are you cast down, O my soul, and why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise him, my help


I say to God, my rock: “Why hast thou forgotten me? Why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?”


For thou art the God in whom I take refuge; why hast thou cast me off? Why go I mourning because of the oppression of the enemy?


They set a net for my steps; my soul was bowed down. They dug a pit in my way, but they have fallen into it themselves. Selah


I am weary with my moaning; every night I flood my bed with tears; I drench my couch with my weeping.


my eye grows dim through sorrow. Every day I call upon thee, O Lord; I spread out my hands to thee.


Like a swallow or a crane I clamor, I moan like a dove. My eyes are weary with looking upward. O Lord, I am oppressed; be thou my security!