Job 7

¹ Is not human life a hard service on earth,
and his days like the days of a hired laborer?

² Like a slave who pants for the shadow,
and like a hired worker who longs for his wages —

³ so I am allotted months of emptiness,
and nights of misery are apportioned to me.

⁴ When I lie down I say, 'When shall I rise?'
But the night drags on,
and I toss restlessly until the dawn.

⁵ My flesh is clothed with worms and crusts of dirt;
my skin hardens, then breaks open again.

⁶ My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle,
and they come to an end without hope.

⁷ Remember that my life is but a breath;
my eye will never again see good.

⁸ The eye that sees me now will see me no more;
your eyes will look for me, but I will be gone.

⁹ As a cloud fades and vanishes,
so the one who goes down to Sheol does not come up.

¹⁰ He returns no more to his house,
and his place knows him no more.

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

¹² Am I the Sea, or the Dragon,
that you set a guard over me?

¹³ When I say, 'My bed will comfort me,
my couch will ease my complaint,'

¹⁴ then you terrify me with dreams
and frighten me with visions,

¹⁵ so that my soul would choose strangling —
death rather than these bones of mine.

¹⁶ I loathe my life; I would not live forever.
Leave me alone, for my days are a breath.

¹⁷ What is a human being that you make so much of him,
that you fix your attention upon him,

¹⁸ that you inspect him every morning
and test him every moment?

¹⁹ How long before you look away from me?
Will you not let me alone long enough to swallow my spit?

²⁰ If I have sinned, what do I do to you,
O Watcher of humanity?
Why have you made me your target?
Why have I become a burden to you?

²¹ Why do you not pardon my transgression
and take away my iniquity?
For soon I will lie down in the dust,
and you will seek me, but I will be no more.