Job 7 – The Amalgamation

Is there not an appointed time of hard service upon earth for man?

                Are not his days to be those of a laborer?

Like a slave, he yearns for evening shadow.

Like a laborer, he waits eagerly for his reward.

Indeed, I am allotted, moons of futility,

                Nights of misery, apportioned to me.

When I lie down, I ask, when shall I rise?

                Night drags on, I say, I am sated with tossing before dawn.

My flesh is clothed in maggots and clumps of dust,

                My skin scabs over and breaks out afresh.

My days are swifter than the weaver’s shuttle,

                They end in the absence of thread (hope).

Recall that my life is but a breath,

                My eye shall never again see pleasure.

The questing eye will not detect me,

                Your eye will seek me, but I shall be no more.

As the cloud dissipates, vanishes,

                So whoever goes down to Sheol, rises no more.

They shall return no more to their home,

                Their place shall know them no longer.

Therefore, I will speak without restraint,

                I will give voice to the anguish of my spirit,

                                I will complain out of the bitterness of my soul.

Am I the Sea or the Dragon,

                That you place a guard about me?

When I thought my couch will comfort me,

                My bed will share the burden of my complaint,

You frightened me with nightmares,

                And in visions, You struck me with terror,

So that my throat would have chosen strangling,

                My bones, death.

I despise, I would not live forever,

                Let me be, my days are but a breath.

What are people that you exalt them?

                That you fix your attention on them?

That you visit them each morning?

                That you appraise them every moment?

How long until you turn away from me,

                Let me be, even for an instant.

If I have sinned,

                How have I harmed You,

                                O Watcher of Man?

Why have you made me your target?

                Why have I become a burden to you?

Why not pardon my transgression,

                And forgive my sin?

For soon I shall lie in the dust,

                When you seek me,

                                I shall be no more.