CHAPTER 7

              ¹Does not man have   fixed service on earth,

                     and like a hired worker’s his days?

              ²Like a slave he pants for   shade,

                     like a hired worker he waits for his pay.

              ³Thus I was heir to   futile moons,

                     and wretched nights were allotted to me.

              ⁴Lying down, I thought, When shall I rise?—

                     Each evening, I was sated with tossing till dawn.

              ⁵My   flesh was clothed with worms and earth-clods,

                     my skin rippled with running sores.

              ⁶  My days are swifter than the weaver’s shuttle.

                     They snap off without any hope.

              ⁷Recall that my life is a breath.

                     Not again will my eyes see good.

              ⁸The eye of who sees me will not make me out.

                     Your eyes are on me—I am gone.

              ⁹A cloud vanishes and goes off.

                     Thus, who goes down to Sheol will not come up.

              ¹⁰He will not return to his home.

                     His place will not know him again.

              ¹¹As for me, I will not restrain my mouth.

                     I would lament with my spirit in straits

                           I would speak when my being is bitter.

              ¹²  Am I Yamm or the Sea Beast,

                     that You should put a watch upon me?

              ¹³When I thought my couch would console me,

                     that my bed would bear my lament,

              ¹⁴  You panicked me in dreams

                     and in visions You struck me with terror.

              ¹⁵And   my throat would have chosen choking,

                     my bones—death.

              ¹⁶I am sickened—I won’t live forever.

                     Let me be, for my days are   mere breath.

              ¹⁷  What is man that You make him great

                     and that You pay heed to him?

              ¹⁸You single him out every morning,

                     every moment examine him.

              ¹⁹How long till You turn away from me?

                     You don’t let me go   while I swallow my spit.

              ²⁰What 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?

              ²¹And why do You not pardon my crime

                     and let my sin pass away?

                For soon I shall lie in the dust.

                     You will seek me, and I shall be gone.