9 Yehudah’s King Hezkiyah wrote this poem after he’d recovered from his sickness:

10 I said, “I’ll go through the gates to the grave in the prime of my life,

≈ I’ll miss out on the remainder of my years.”

11 I said, “I won’t see Yah in the land of the living.

≈ I’ll no longer look at humankind but rather those who’ve ceased living.”

12 The body that I live in has been pulled up and removed from over me like a shepherd’s tent.

≈ I’ve rolled my life up like a weaver cutting me off from the loom.

From day until night, you make an end of me—

13 I lie down[fn] until the morning.

He breaks all my bones like a lion would.

From day until night, you make an end of me.

14 I chirp like a swallow and moan like a dove.

My eyes feel weak from looking upwards.

I’m oppressed, my master, help me out.

15 What will I say? He told me and then he did it.

I’ll walk slowly my remaining years because of my soul’s bitterness.

16 My master, people live by such things,

and my spirit finds life in all of them.

Please restore my health and preserve my life.

17 Look, this severe bitterness was for my welfare,

and you held my life back from the pit of destruction

because you threw all my sins back over your shoulder.

18 No, the grave doesn’t thank you.

Death doesn’t praise you.

Those who go down into the pit don’t expect you to be faithful.

19 The living, yes only the living, give thanks to you like I do today.

A father tells his children about your faithfulness.

20 Yahweh will save me and we’ll play stringed instruments

at his residence for the rest of our lives.

21 Then Yeshayah said, “Get them to apply a cake of figs to the boil so he’ll recover.”

22 Now Hezkiyah asked, “What will be the sign that I should go up to Yahweh’s residence?”