My soul, oh my soul!
Why are you downcast?
Why do I carry my heart,
as Atlas would the world?
My spirit lies in the dust, weary.
Groaning as if plagued by colic.
My food and drink taste like oat bran,
Fine music rouse nothing but lint.
Oh that I would lie down
And wake in Sheol.
My soul, o my soul!
How long will you lie curled
And sobbing in the dust?
Pitying yourself and cursing the world?
Take comfort, for lo!
Is not your God and King
Kneeling by your side?
Did he not degrade himself
To become human,
And suffer like we do?
The man of all sorrows,
And accquainted with grief,
He has never forgotten
The sorrows that are borne
By the hearts that he has bought.
The night will still be dark
And the sorrow be real,
But you will never stumble and fall
Through this valley alone.
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