He made the arrows of His quiver To enter into my inward parts. I have become a laughingstock to all my people, Their mocking song all the day. He has filled me with bitterness, He has made me drunk with wormwood. He has broken my teeth with gravel; He has made me cower in the dust. My soul has been rejected from peace; I have forgotten happiness. So I say, “My strength has perished, And so has my hope from the LORD.” Remember my affliction and my wandering, the wormwood and bitterness. Surely my soul remembers And is bowed down within me.
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