1 Is there not a warfare to man upon earth? And are not his days like the days of a hireling?
2 As a servant that earnestly desireth the shadow, And as a hireling that looketh for his wages:
3 So am I made to possess months of misery, And wearisome nights are appointed to me.
4 When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone? And I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day.
5 My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; My skin closeth up, and breaketh out afresh.
6 My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, And are spent without hope.
7 Oh remember that my life is a breath: Mine eye shall no more see good.
8 The eye of him that seeth me shall behold me no more; Thine eyes shall be upon me, but I shall not be.
9 As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away, So he that goeth down to Sheol shall come up no more.
10 He shall return no more to his house, Neither shall his place know him any more.