In-Text |
Thine arrowes stick fast in mee, thine hand presseth me sore, there is no soundnesse in my flesh, my wounds stinke and are corrupt, I am feeble and fore broken, I have roared by reason of the disquietnesse of my heart. |
Thine arrows stick fast in me, thine hand Presseth me soar, there is no soundness in my Flesh, my wounds stink and Are corrupt, I am feeble and before broken, I have roared by reason of the disquietness of my heart. |
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