עַצֶּבֶת

I am afraid of all my sorrows, I know that thou wilt not hold me innocent.

He that winketh with the eye causeth sorrow: but a prating fool shall fall.

A merry heart maketh a cheerful countenance: but by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.

Their sorrows shall be multiplied that hasten after another god: their drink offerings of blood will I not offer, nor take up their names into my lips.

He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds.