Because it shut not up the doors of my mother’s womb, Nor hid trouble from mine eyes.Why died I not from the womb? Why did I not give up the ghost when my mother bare me?Why did the knees receive me? Or why the breasts, that I should suck?For now should I have lain down and been quiet; I should have slept; then had I been at rest,
For we are consumed in thine anger, And in thy wrath are we troubled.Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, Our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: We bring our years to an end as a sigh.