My bones are pierced in me in the night season: and my sinews take no rest.

He hath cast me into the mire, and I am become like dust and ashes.

Let her not be as one dead, of whom the flesh is half consumed when he cometh out of his mother's womb.

How much less in them that dwell in houses of clay, whose foundation is in the dust, which are crushed before the moth?

When thou with rebukes dost correct man for iniquity, thou makest his beauty to consume away like a moth: surely every man is vanity. Selah.

Therefore will I be unto Ephraim as a moth, and to the house of Judah as rottenness.