From on high, sent he fire, among my bones, and laid them prostrate, - He spread out a net for my feet, he made me turn back, he made me desolate, all the day, faint.

My flesh and my skin hath he made old; he hath broken my bones.

He hath hedged me about, that I cannot get out: he hath made my chain heavy.

He hath inclosed my ways with hewn stone, he hath made my paths crooked.

He hath turned aside my ways, and pulled me in pieces: he hath made me desolate.

He hath filled me with bitterness, he hath made me drunken with wormwood.

Thou hast made us as the offscouring and refuse in the midst of the people.