Job 7:1-7 ▼

1 Isn’t each person consigned to forced labor on earth? Are not his days like those of a hired worker?

2 Like a slave he longs for shade; like a hired worker he waits for his pay.

3 So I have been made to inherit months of futility, and troubled nights have been assigned to me.

4 When I lie down I think, “When will I get up? ” But the evening drags on endlessly, and I toss and turn until dawn.

5 My flesh is clothed with maggots and encrusted with dirt. My skin forms scabs and then oozes.

6 My days pass more swiftly than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.

7 Remember that my life is but a breath. My eye will never again see anything good.