Is there not a warfare to man on earth? And as the days of
an hireling his days?
As a servant desireth the shadow, And as a hireling
expecteth his wage,
So I have been caused to inherit months of vanity, And
nights of misery they numbered to me.
If I lay down then I said, 'When do I rise!' And evening
hath been measured, And I have been full of tossings till dawn.
Clothed hath been my flesh with worms, And a clod of
dust, My skin hath been shrivelled and is loathsome,
My days swifter than a weaving machine, And they are
consumed without hope.
Remember Thou that my life is a breath, Mine eye
turneth not back to see good.
The eye of my beholder beholdeth me not. Thine eyes are
upon me -- and I am not.
Consumed hath been a cloud, and it goeth, So he who is going
down to Sheol cometh not up.
He turneth not again to his house, Nor doth his place
discern him again.
Also I -- I withhold not my mouth -- I speak in the distress
of my spirit, I talk in the bitterness of my soul.
A sea-monster am I, or a dragon, That thou settest
over me a guard?
When I said, 'My bed doth comfort me,' He taketh away in my
talking my couch.
And thou hast affrighted me with dreams, And from visions
thou terrifiest me,
And my soul chooseth strangling, Death rather than my bones.
I have wasted away -- not to the age do I live. Cease from
me, for my days are vanity.
What is man that Thou dost magnify him? And that Thou
settest unto him Thy heart?
And inspectest him in the mornings, In the evenings dost try
How long dost Thou not look from me? Thou dost not desist
till I swallow my spittle.
I have sinned, what do I to Thee, O watcher of man? Why hast
Thou set me for a mark to Thee, And I am for a burden to myself -- and what?
Thou dost not take away my transgression, And cause to pass
away mine iniquity, Because now, for dust I lie down: And Thou hast sought me
-- and I am not!