Psalm 102
A Prayer of the afflicted, when he is overwhelmed and pours out his complaint before the LORD.
LORD, hear my prayer, and listen to my desperate, urgent plea!
Don't hide your face in my distress; quick — turn your face toward me!
My days dissolve like smoke; my bones, like hot coals burning red.
My heart is sick, like withered grass; I cannot eat my bread.
Because of my loud groaning, I am naught but skin and bone.
I'm like a mournful vulture; like a desert owl, alone.
I'm sleepless and I'm lonely, like a sparrow on a roof.
My enemies taunt me all day; their slander is uncouth.
Like bread, I've eaten ashes, mixed my drink with tears I've cried;
for in your rage, you've picked me up and you've thrown me aside.
My days are like the evening shadow, withering like grass.
But you, LORD, sit enthroned, are known by generations past.
You will arise and show your mercy on Jerusalem;
it's time that you recalled the aid that you once promised them.
Your people love her stones from ruined walls about their feet;
they cherish — even pity — dust that blows along her street.
All nations will respect you, LORD, and they will fear your name;
and kings of all the earth will fear your glory and your fame.
The LORD will rebuild Zion and appear in glory there;
responding to the destitute and answering their prayer.
For future generations, written records should be stored,
so, people still to be created might yet praise the LORD.
The LORD looked down from heaven and he viewed earth from on high;
to hear the captives' groans and set free those condemned to die.
That Zion would declare his name; Jerusalem, his praise;
when people gather round, and kingdoms serve the LORD always.
He broke my strength in midlife, cutting short my days to be.
I cried, Don't take my middle years, my God, away from me.
Your years go on through every generation's death and birth!
For long ago you laid down the foundation of the earth;
the heavens are your handiwork with everything that grows.
They perish, you remain forever; they wear out like clothes.
Like clothing, you will change them till they can't be worn again.
Forever you remain the same; your years will never end.
The children of your servants will live in security;
their children's seed established in your midst eternally.
LORD, hear my prayer, and listen to my desperate, urgent plea!
Don't hide your face in my distress; quick — turn your face toward me!
My days dissolve like smoke; my bones, like hot coals burning red.
My heart is sick, like withered grass; I cannot eat my bread.
Because of my loud groaning, I am naught but skin and bone.
I'm like a mournful vulture; like a desert owl, alone.
I'm sleepless and I'm lonely, like a sparrow on a roof.
My enemies taunt me all day; their slander is uncouth.
Like bread, I've eaten ashes, mixed my drink with tears I've cried;
for in your rage, you've picked me up and you've thrown me aside.
My days are like the evening shadow, withering like grass.
But you, LORD, sit enthroned, are known by generations past.
You will arise and show your mercy on Jerusalem;
it's time that you recalled the aid that you once promised them.
Your people love her stones from ruined walls about their feet;
they cherish — even pity — dust that blows along her street.
All nations will respect you, LORD, and they will fear your name;
and kings of all the earth will fear your glory and your fame.
The LORD will rebuild Zion and appear in glory there;
responding to the destitute and answering their prayer.
For future generations, written records should be stored,
so, people still to be created might yet praise the LORD.
The LORD looked down from heaven and he viewed earth from on high;
to hear the captives' groans and set free those condemned to die.
That Zion would declare his name; Jerusalem, his praise;
when people gather round, and kingdoms serve the LORD always.
He broke my strength in midlife, cutting short my days to be.
I cried, Don't take my middle years, my God, away from me.
Your years go on through every generation's death and birth!
For long ago you laid down the foundation of the earth;
the heavens are your handiwork with everything that grows.
They perish, you remain forever; they wear out like clothes.
Like clothing, you will change them till they can't be worn again.
Forever you remain the same; your years will never end.
The children of your servants will live in security;
their children's seed established in your midst eternally.
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