Melancholy

I held my tongue, and spoke nothing: I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me. My heart was hot within me, and while I was thus musing kindled: and at the last I spoke with my tongue. Lord, let me know my end, and the number of my days: that I may be certified how long I have to live. Behold, thou hast made my days as it were a span long: and mine age is even as nothing in respect of thee; and verily every man living is altogether vanity. For man walk in a vain shadow, and disquiets himself in vain: he heaps up riches, and cannot tell who shall gather them. And now, Lord, what is my hope: truly my hope is even in thee.