And I -- in their sickness my clothing is sackcloth, I have humbled with fastings my soul, And my prayer unto my bosom returneth.

Why dost Thou turn back Thy hand, Even Thy right hand? From the midst of Thy bosom remove it.

And turn Thou back to our neighbours, Sevenfold unto their bosom, their reproach, Wherewith they reproached Thee, O Lord.

Remember, O Lord, the reproach of Thy servants, I have borne in my bosom all the strivings of the peoples,

That hath not filled the hand of a reaper, And the bosom of a binder of sheaves.