Job 7:1-7 ▼

1 “Is not man consigned to labor on earth? Are not his days like those of a hired hand?

2 Like a slave he longs for shade; like a hireling he waits for his wages.

3 So I am allotted months of futility, and nights of misery are appointed to me.

4 When I lie down I think: ‘When will I get up?’ But the night drags on, and I toss and turn until dawn.

5 My flesh is clothed with worms and encrusted with dirt; my skin is cracked and festering.

6 My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.

7 Remember that my life is but a breath. My eyes will never again see happiness.