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1 In thy great indignation,
O Lord, rebuke me not;
Nor on me lay thy chast'ning hand,
in thy displeasure hot.
2 For in me fast thine arrows stick,
thine hand doth press me sore:
3 And in my flesh there is no health,
nor soundness any more.
This grief I have, because thy wrath
is forth against me gone;
And in my bones there is no rest,
for sin that I have done.
4 Because gone up above mine head
my great transgressions be;
And, as a weighty burden, they
too heavy are for me.
5 My wounds do stink, and are corrupt;
my folly makes it so.
6 I troubled am, and much bow'd down;
all day I mourning go.
7 For a disease that loathsome is
so fills my loins with pain,
That in my weak and weary flesh
no soundness doth remain.