The distresses of my heart, hath he relieved, - and, out of my straits, brought me forth.
Many are the misfortunes of the righteous, But, out of them all, doth Yahweh rescue him.
O Yahweh, do not, in thine anger, correct me, nor, in thy wrath, chastise me;
Roaring deep unto roaring deep, is calling, at the voice of thy cataracts, All thy breakers and thy rolling waves, over me, have passed.
In the day of my distress - unto My Lord, will I seek, My hand, by night, hath been outstretched and never once became slack, My soul, hath refused to be consoled;
Then made they outcry to Yahweh, in their peril, Out of their distresses, he rescued them;
Though, the fig-tree, should not blossom, and there be no sprouting in the vines, the yield of the olive, should have deceived, and, the fields, not have brought forth food, - the flock, have been consumed out of the fold, and there be no herd in the stalls,
Until the present hour, we both hunger and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and are wanderers,
On every side, pressed hard, but not hemmed in, without a way, but not without a by-way,