CHAPTER 7
T
HE life of man upon earth is a warfare, and his days are like the days of a hireling.
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As a servant longeth for the shade, as the hireling looketh for the end of his work;
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So I also have had empty months, and have numbered to myself wearisome nights.
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If I lie down to sleep, I shall say: When shall I rise? and again, I shall look for the evening, and shall be filled with sorrows even till darkness.
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My flesh is clothed with rottenness and the filth of dust; my skin is withered and drawn together.
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My days have passed more swiftly than the web is cut by the weaver, and are consumed without any hope.
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Remember that my life is but wind, and my eye shall not return to see good things.
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Nor shall the sight of man behold me: thy eyes are upon me, and I shall be no more.
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As a cloud is consumed, and passeth away: so he that shall go down to hell shall not come up.
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Nor shall he return any more into his house, neither shall his place know him any more
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Wherefore, I will not spare my month, I will speak in the affliction of my spirit: I will talk with the bitterness of my soul.
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Am I a sea, or a whale, that thou hast inclosed me in a prison?
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If I say: My bed shall comfort me, and I shall be relieved, speaking with myself on my couch:
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Thou wilt frighten me with dreams, and terrify me with visions.
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So that my soul rather chooseth hanging, and my bones death.
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I have done with hope, I shall now live no longer: spare me, for my days are nothing.
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What is a man, that thou shouldst magnify him or why dost thou set thy heart upon him?
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Thou visitest him early in the morning, and thou provest him suddenly.
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How long wilt thou not spare me, nor suffer me to swallow down my spittle?
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I have sinned: what shall I do to thee, O keeper of men? why hast thou set me opposite to thee. and am I become burdensome to myself?
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Why dost thou not remove my sin, and why dost thou not take away my iniquity? Behold now I shall sleep in the dust: and if thou seek me in the morning, I shall not be.