Job 7

¹Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth? are not his days also like the days of an hireling?

²As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow, and as an hireling looketh for the reward of his work:

³So am I made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me.

⁴When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day.

⁵My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin is broken, and become loathsome.

⁶My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope.

⁷O remember that my life is wind: mine eye shall no more see good.

⁸The eye of him that hath seen me shall see me no more: thine eyes are upon me, and I am not.

⁹As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away: so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more.

¹⁰He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.

¹¹Therefore I will not refrain my mouth; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.

¹²Am I a sea, or a whale, that thou settest a watch over me?

¹³When I say, My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint;

¹⁴Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions:

¹⁵So that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than my life.

¹⁶I loathe it; I would not live alway: let me alone; for my days are vanity.

¹⁷What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him? and that thou shouldest set thine heart upon him?

¹⁸And that thou shouldest visit him every morning, and try him every moment?

¹⁹How long wilt thou not depart from me, nor let me alone till I swallow down my spittle?

²⁰I have sinned; what shall I do unto thee, O thou preserver of men? why hast thou set me as a mark against thee, so that I am a burden to myself?

²¹And why dost thou not pardon my transgression, and take away mine iniquity? for now shall I sleep in the dust; and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be.