Job , CHAPTER 7
Is not life on earth a drudgery, its days like those of a hireling?
Like a slave who longs for the shade, a hireling who waits for wages,
So I have been assigned months of futility, and troubled nights have been counted off for me.
When I lie down I say, “When shall I arise?” then the night drags on; I am filled with restlessness until the dawn.
My flesh is clothed with worms and scabs; my skin cracks and festers;
My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.
Remember that my life is like the wind; my eye will not see happiness again.
The eye that now sees me shall no more behold me; when your eye is on me, I shall be gone.
As a cloud dissolves and vanishes, so whoever goes down to Sheol shall not come up.
They shall not return home again; their place shall know them no more.
My own utterance I will not restrain; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.
Am I the Sea, or the dragon, that you place a watch over me?
When I say, “My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint,”
Then you frighten me with dreams and terrify me with visions,
So that I should prefer strangulation and death rather than my existence.
I waste away: I will not live forever; let me alone, for my days are but a breath.
What are human beings, that you make much of them, or pay them any heed?
You observe them every morning and try them at every moment!
How long before you look away from me, and let me alone till I swallow my spit?
If I sin, what do I do to you, O watcher of mortals? Why have you made me your target? Why should I be a burden for you?
Why do you not pardon my offense, or take away my guilt? For soon I shall lie down in the dust; and should you seek me I shall be gone.