NAB

I loathe my life.
I will give myself up to complaint;
I will speak from the bitterness of my soul.

I will say to God: Do not put me in the wrong!
Let me know why you oppose me.

Is it a pleasure for you to oppress,
to spurn the work of your hands,
and shine on the plan of the wicked?

Have you eyes of flesh?
Do you see as mortals see?

Are your days like the days of a mortal,
and are your years like a human lifetime,

That you seek for guilt in me
and search after my sins,

Even though you know that I am not wicked,
and that none can deliver me out of your hand?

Your hands have formed me and fashioned me;
will you then turn and destroy me?

Oh, remember that you fashioned me from clay!
Will you then bring me down to dust again?

Did you not pour me out like milk,
and thicken me like cheese?

With skin and flesh you clothed me,
with bones and sinews knit me together.

Life and love you granted me,
and your providence has preserved my spirit.

Yet these things you have hidden in your heart;
I know they are your purpose:

If I should sin, you would keep a watch on me,
and from my guilt you would not absolve me.

If I should be wicked, alas for me!
even if righteous, I dare not hold up my head,
sated with shame, drenched in affliction!

Should it lift up, you hunt me like a lion:
repeatedly you show your wondrous power against me,

You renew your attack upon me
and multiply your harassment of me;
in waves your troops come against me.

Why then did you bring me forth from the womb?
I should have died and no eye have seen me.

I should be as though I had never lived;
I should have been taken from the womb to the grave.

Are not my days few? Stop!
Let me alone, that I may recover a little

Before I go whence I shall not return,
to the land of darkness and of gloom,

The dark, disordered land
where darkness is the only light.