Job 7

Is there not a war-service for man on the earth? Are not his days as the days of a hireling? As a servant panteth for the shade, And as a hireling looketh for his wages, So am I made to possess months of affliction, And wearisome nights are appointed for me. If I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone? And I am full of restlessness until the dawning of the day. My flesh is clothed with worms, and clods of dust; My skin is broken and become loathsome. My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; They pass away without hope. O remember that my life is a breath; That mine eye shall no more see good! The eye of him that hath seen me shall see me no more; Thine eyes shall look for me, but I shall not be. As the cloud dissolveth and wasteth away, So he that goeth down to the grave shall arise no more; 10 No more shall he return to his house, And his dwelling-place shall know 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 a sea, or a sea-monster, That thou settest a watch over me? 13 When I say, My bed shall relieve me, My couch shall ease my complaint, 14 Then thou scarest me with dreams, And terrifiest me with visions; 15 So that my soul chooseth strangling, Yea, death, rather than these my bones. 16 I am wasting away; I shall not live alway: Let me alone, for my days are a vapor! 17 What is man, that thou shouldst make great account him, And fix thy mind upon him?— 18 That thou shouldst visit him every morning, And prove him every moment? 19 How long ere thou wilt look away from me, And let me alone, till I have time to breathe? 20 If I have sinned, what have I done to thee, O thou watcher of men! Why hast thou set me up as thy mark, So that I have become a burden to myself? 21 And why dost thou not pardon my transgression, And take away mine iniquity? For soon shall I sleep in the dust; And, though thou seek me diligently, I shall not be.
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