Job.
Chapter 7.
“Is there not warfare to man on earth? And his days as the days of a hired worker? 
As a servant desires the shadow, || And as a hired worker expects his wage, 
So I have been caused to inherit months of vanity, || And they numbered nights of misery to me. 
If I lay down, then I have said, When do I rise, || And evening has been measured? And I have been full of tossings until dawn. 
My flesh has been clothed with worms, || And a clod of dust, || My skin has been shriveled and is loathsome, 
My days swifter than a loom, || And they are consumed without hope. 
Remember that my life is a breath, || My eye does not turn back to see good. 
The eye of my beholder does not behold me. Your eyes are on me—and I am not. 
A cloud has been consumed, and it goes, || So he who is going down to Sheol does not come up. 
He does not turn to his house again, || Nor does his place discern him again. 
Also I do not withhold my mouth—I speak in the distress of my spirit, I talk in the bitterness of my soul. 
Am I a sea monster, or a dragon, || That You set a watch over me? 
When I said, My bed comforts me, || In my talking He takes away my couch. 
And You have frightened me with dreams, || And You terrify me from visions, 
And my soul chooses strangling, || Death rather than my bones. 
I have wasted away—I do not live for all time. Cease from me, for my days are vanity. 
What is man that You magnify him? And that You set Your heart to him? 
And inspect him in the mornings, || And in the evenings try him? 
How long do You not look from me? You do not desist until I swallow my spittle. 
I have sinned, what do I do to You, || O watcher of man? Why have You set me for a mark to You, || And I am for a burden to myself—and what? 
You do not take away my transgression, || And do not cause my iniquity to pass away, || Because now, I lie down in dust, || And You have sought me—and I am not!” 
