Does not man have fixed service on earth, and like a hired worker’s his days?Like a slave he pants for shade, like a hired worker he waits for his pay.Thus I was heir to futile moons, and wretched nights were allotted to me.Lying down, I thought, When shall I rise?— Each evening, I was sated with tossing till dawn.My flesh was clothed with worms and earth-clods, my skin rippled with running sores.My days are swifter than the weaver’s shuttle. They snap off without any hope.Recall that my life is a breath.Not again will my eyes see good.The eye of who sees me will not make me out.Your eyes are on me—I am gone.A cloud vanishes and goes off.Thus, who goes down to the Underworld will not come up.He will not return to his home.His place will not know him again.As for me, I will not restrain my mouth.I would lament with my spirit in straitsI would speak when my being is bitter.Am I the Sea or am I a Dragon,that You should put a watch upon me?When I thought my couch would console me,that my bed would bear my lament,You panicked me in dreamsand in visions You struck me with terror.And my throat would have chosen choking,my bones—death.I am sickened—I won’t live forever.Let me be, for my days are mere breath.What is man that You make him greatand that You pay heed to him?You single him out every morning,every moment examine him.How long till You turn away from me?You don’t let me go while I swallow my spit.What is my offense that I have done to You,O Watcher of man?Why did You make me Your target,and I became a burden to You?And why do You not pardon my crimeand let my sin pass away?For soon I shall lie in the dust.You will seek me, and I shall be gone.
