God forgie me! what hae I got to do wi' sorting my ain wrongs?
What for couldna Davie like some other lass?
It's as easy to graft on a good stock as an ill one.

I doobt I hae done wrong.

I am in a sair swither.
The righteous dinna always see the right way.

I maun e'en to my Psalms again.

It is a wonderfu' comfort that King David was just a weak, sinfu' mortal like mysel'." So he went again to those pathetic, self-accusing laments of the royal singer, and found in them, as he always had done, words for all the great depths of his sin and fear, his hopes and his faith.
In the morning one thing was clear to him; David must have his own house now--David must leave him.