Add parallel Print Page Options

“Isn’t a man forced to labor on earth?
    Aren’t his days like the days of a hired hand?
As a servant who earnestly desires the shadow,
    as a hireling who looks for his wages,
so I am made to possess months of misery,
    wearisome nights are appointed to me.
When I lie down, I say,
    ‘When will I arise, and the night be gone?’
    I toss and turn until the dawning of the day.
My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust.
    My skin closes up, and breaks out afresh.

Read full chapter

“Is not all human life a struggle?
    Our lives are like that of a hired hand,
like a worker who longs for the shade,
    like a servant waiting to be paid.
I, too, have been assigned months of futility,
    long and weary nights of misery.
Lying in bed, I think, ‘When will it be morning?’
    But the night drags on, and I toss till dawn.
My body is covered with maggots and scabs.
    My skin breaks open, oozing with pus.

Read full chapter