NAB

My spirit is broken, my days finished,
my burial at hand.

Surely mockers surround me,
at their provocation, my eyes grow dim.

Put up a pledge for me with you:
who is there to give surety for me?

You darken their minds to knowledge;
therefore you will not exalt them.

For a share of property he informs on friends,
while the eyes of his children grow dim.

I am made a byword of the people;
I am one at whom people spit.

My eyes are blind with anguish,
and my whole frame is like a shadow.

The upright are astonished at this,
the innocent aroused against the wicked.

The righteous holds to his way,
the one with clean hands increases in strength.

But turn now, and come on again;
I do not find a wise man among you!

My days pass by, my plans are at an end,
the yearning of my heart.

They would change the night into day;
where there is darkness they talk of approaching light.

If my only hope is dwelling in Sheol,
and spreading my couch in darkness,

If I am to say to the pit, “You are my father,”
and to the worm “my mother,” “my sister,”

Where then is my hope,
my happiness, who can see it?

Will they descend with me into Sheol?
Shall we go down together into the dust?