Add parallel Print Page Options

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.

Old from provocation is mine eye, It is old because of all mine adversaries,

Read full chapter

Among the dead no one proclaims your name.
    Who praises you from the grave?(A)

I am worn out(B) from my groaning.(C)

All night long I flood my bed with weeping(D)
    and drench my couch with tears.(E)
My eyes grow weak(F) with sorrow;
    they fail because of all my foes.

Read full chapter