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'Man born of woman is of few days and turmoil-filled.
He comes forth like a flower and withers. He flees like a shadow and does not continue.
Yet on such a one You open Your eyes, and bring me to right-ruling with Yourself!
Who brings the clean out of the unclean? No one!
Since his days are decided, the number of his months is with You, You have appointed his bounds which he does not pass over.
Look away from him and let him rest, till like a hired man he enjoys his day.
For there is expectancy for a tree, if it is cut down, that it does sprout again, and that its tender branch does not cease.
Though its root grows old in the earth, and its stump dies in the ground,
at the scent of water it buds and brings forth foliage like a plant.
But man dies and is powerless, and man expires, and where is he?
Water disappears from the sea, and a river dries up and is parched,
and man shall lie down and not rise. Till the heavens are no more, they awake not, nor are aroused from their sleep.
If only You would hide me in the grave, conceal me until Your wrath turns away. Set me a time, and remember me!
If a man dies, would he live again? All the days of my struggle I wait, till my change comes.
You would call, and I would answer You. You have yearned for the work of Your hands.
For now You count my steps - do You not watch over my sin?
My transgression is sealed up in a bag, and You cover over my crookedness.
But a falling mountain crumbles away, and a rock is moved from its place,
as water wears away stones, its out-pouring washes away the soil of the earth - so You have destroyed the expectancy of man.
You overpower him, forever, and he is gone - his face changes and You send him away.
His sons come to esteem, and he does not know it. And they are brought low, and he does not perceive it.
He feels only the pain of his flesh, and he mourns over himself.'