1 "Isn`t a man forced to labor on earth? Aren`t his days like the days of a hired hand?
2 As a servant who earnestly desires the shadow, As a hireling who looks for his wages,
3 So am I made to possess months of misery, Wearisome nights are appointed to me.
4 When I lie down, I say, `When shall I arise, and the night be gone?` I toss and turn until the dawning of the day.
5 My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust. My skin closes up, and breaks 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. My eye shall no more see good.
