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'Does not man have to struggle on earth? For his days are like the days of a hired man.
Like a servant who sighs for the shade, and like a hireling longing for his wages,
so am I allotted months of futility. And nights of trouble have been appointed to me.
When I lie down, I say, 'When am I going to rise, and the night be ended?' For I have had my fill of tossing till dawn.
My body is covered with worms and dirt, my skin is cracked and it festers.
My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without expectancy.
Remember that my life is a breath! My eye is never again to see good.
The eye of him who sees me sees me no longer. Your eyes are upon me, and I am no more.
The cloud fades and vanishes away, so he who goes down to the grave does not come up.
He returns no more to his house, nor does his place know him any more.
I also, I do not hold my mouth, I speak in the distress of my spirit, I complain in the bitterness of my being.
Am I the sea, or a sea monster, that You set a guard over me?
When I say, 'My bed does comfort me, my couch does ease my complaint,'
then You frighten me with dreams and make me afraid with visions,
so that my being chooses strangling, death rather than my bones.
I have wasted away, I would not live forever. Leave me alone, for my days are a breath.
What is man, that You should make him great, that You should set Your heart on him,
that You should visit him every morning, trying him every moment?
How long do You not look away from me, nor leave me alone till I swallow my saliva?
Have I sinned? What have I done to You, O Watcher of men? Why have You set me as Your target, so that I am a burden to You?
And why do You not pardon my transgression, and take away my crookedness? For now I lie down in the dust, and You shall seek me, but I am not.'