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Futility of Days

“Does not man have hard labor on earth?
    Are not his days like those of a hired laborer?
Like a slave longing for the shadow,
    or a hired man waiting for his pay,
so I have inherited months of futility,
    and nights of distress have been appointed to me.
When I lay down I say, “When will I rise?”
The night drags on, and I toss until the day dawns.
My flesh is clothed with maggots and clods of dirt;
    My skin is broken and festering.
My days fly faster than a weaver’s shuttle
    and come to an end without hope.
Remember, my life is but a breath;
    my eyes will not see goodness again!
The eye that sees me now will see me no more;
your eyes will be on me, but I will be no more.
As a cloud vanishes and is gone,
    so one descending into Sheol does not come up;
10 he will never return to his house,
    his place does not know him.

11 “So I will not keep silent;
    I will speak in the distress of my spirit,
    I will complain in bitterness of soul.
12 Am I a sea, or a monster of the deep
    that You have set a watch over me?
13 When I say, ‘My bed will comfort me,
    my couch will ease my complaint,’
14 then You frighten me with dreams,
    and terrify me with visions,
15 so that my soul prefers strangulation,
    and my bones death.
16 I despise it; I would not live forever.
Leave me alone, for my days are a vapor.

17 “What is mankind,
    that You magnify him,
    that You set Your heart on him,
18 that You visit him every morning,
    and test him in every moment?
19 Will You never look away from me,
    or let me alone until I swallow my spittle?
20 Have I sinned—
    what have I done to You,
    O watcher of men?
Why have You set me as Your target?
    Have I become a burden to You?
21 Why do You not pardon my transgression,
    and take away my iniquity?
For now I will lie down in the dust,
    and You will search for me,
    but I will be gone.”