at the uproar of the enemy,
the clamor of the wicked.
They heap trouble upon me,
savagely accuse me.
My heart pounds within me;
death’s terrors fall upon me.
Fear and trembling overwhelm me;
shuddering sweeps over me.
I say, “If only I had wings like a dove
that I might fly away and find rest.
Far away I would flee;
I would stay in the desert.
Selah
Psalm 55:4–8