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 complaints;
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 my iniquity? for now shall I sleep in the dust; and thou shalt seek
me in the morning, but I shall not be.
