Job 7

Is there not a warfare to man upon earth?

As a servant that earnestly desireth the shadow,

So am I made to possess months of misery,

When I lie down, I say,

My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust;

My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle,

Oh remember that my life is a breath:

The eye of him that seeth me shall behold me no more;

As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away,

He shall return no more to his house,

Therefore I will not refrain my mouth;

Am I a sea, or a sea-monster,

When I say, My bed shall comfort me,

Then thou scarest me with dreams,

So that my soul chooseth strangling,

I loathe my life; I would not live alway:

What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him,

And that thou shouldest visit him every morning,

How long wilt thou not look away from me,

If I have sinned, what do I unto thee, O thou watcher of men?

And why dost thou not pardon my transgression, and take away mine iniquity?