Job: My suffering is without consolation
							
																								
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									“Is there not warfare to man on earth? And his days as the days of a hired worker?
								
							 
																								
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									As a servant desires the shadow, || And as a hired worker expects his wage,
								
							 
																								
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									So I have been caused to inherit months of vanity, || And they numbered nights of misery to me.
								
							 
																								
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									If I lay down, then I have said, When do I rise, || And evening has been measured? And I have been full of tossings until dawn.
								
							 
																								
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									My flesh has been clothed [with] worms, || And a clod of dust, || My skin has been shriveled and is loathsome,
								
							 
																								
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									My days swifter than a loom, || And they are consumed without hope.
								
							 
																								
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									Remember that my life [is] a breath, || My eye does not turn back to see good.
								
							 
																								
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									The eye of my beholder does not behold me. Your eyes [are] on me—and I am not.
								
							 
																								
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									A cloud has been consumed, and it goes, || So he who is going down to Sheol does not come up.
								
							 
																								
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									He does not turn to his house again, || Nor does his place discern him again.
								
							 
																								
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									Also I do not withhold my mouth—I speak in the distress of my spirit, I talk in the bitterness of my soul.
								
							 
																								
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									Am I a sea [monster], or a dragon, || That You set a watch over me?
								
							 
																								
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									When I said, My bed comforts me, || In my talking He takes away my couch.
								
							 
																								
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									And You have frightened me with dreams, || And You terrify me from visions,
								
							 
																								
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									And my soul chooses strangling, || Death rather than my bones.
								
							 
																								
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									I have wasted away—I do not live for all time. Cease from me, for my days [are] vanity.
								
							 
																								
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									What [is] man that You magnify him? And that You set Your heart to him?
								
							 
																								
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									And inspect him in the mornings, || [And] in the evenings try him?
								
							 
																								
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									How long do You not look from me? You do not desist until I swallow my spittle.
								
							 
																								
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									I have sinned, what do I do to You, || O watcher of man? Why have You set me for a mark to You, || And I am for a burden to myself—and what?
								
							 
																								
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									You do not take away my transgression, || And [do not] cause my iniquity to pass away, || Because now, I lie down in dust, || And You have sought me—and I am not!”
								
							 
																						
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