My skin is black upon me, &c. “The boiling heat of my body hath so parched me that my skin looks black, and the marrow in my bones, and all my vital moisture, are dried up.” My harp also is turned to mourning “To say no more, all mirth is banished my house: the musical instruments are laid aside, and nothing but mourning and weeping come in their room.” Bishop Patrick. All my joy is gone, my condition entirely changed, and I have nothing now but wo and misery.

Continues after advertising
Continues after advertising