13 His archers surround me.
He pierces my¹ heart and does not pity;
He pours out my gall on the ground. ‡

14 He breaks me with wound upon wound;
He runs at me like a¹ warrior. ‡

16 My face is¹ flushed from weeping,
And on my eyelids is the shadow of death; ‡

17 Although no violence is in my hands,
And my prayer is pure.