Job 7:6
My days swifter than a weaving machine, And they are consumed without hope.
My days swifter than a weaving machine, And they are consumed without hope.
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7Remember Thou that my life `is' a breath, Mine eye turneth not back to see good.
8The eye of my beholder beholdeth me not. Thine eyes `are' upon me -- and I am not.
25My days have been swifter than a runner, They have fled, they have not seen good,
26They have passed on with ships of reed, As an eagle darteth on food.
3So I have been caused to inherit months of vanity, And nights of misery they numbered to me.
4If I lay down then I said, `When do I rise!' And evening hath been measured, And I have been full of tossings till dawn.
5Clothed hath been my flesh `with' worms, And a clod of dust, My skin hath been shrivelled and is loathsome,
10`I -- I said in the cutting off of my days, I go in to the gates of Sheol, I have numbered the remnant of mine years.
11I said, I do not see Jah -- Jah! In the land of the living, I do not behold man any more, With the inhabitants of the world.
12My sojourning hath departed, And been removed from me as a shepherd's tent, I have drawn together, as a weaver, my life, By weakness it cutteth me off, From day unto night Thou dost end me.
15And where `is' now my hope? Yea, my hope, who doth behold it?
11My days have passed by, My devices have been broken off, The possessions of my heart!
11What `is' my power that I should hope? And what mine end That I should prolong my life?
11My days as a shadow `are' stretched out, And I -- as the herb I am withered.
16I have wasted away -- not to the age do I live. Cease from me, for my days `are' vanity.
20Are not my days few? Cease then, and put from me, And I brighten up a little,
1My spirit hath been destroyed, My days extinguished -- graves `are' for me.
18And I say, Perished hath my strength and my hope from Jehovah.
47Remember, I pray Thee, what `is' life-time? Wherefore in vain hast Thou created All the sons of men?
10For my life hath been consumed in sorrow And my years in sighing. Feeble because of mine iniquity hath been my strength, And my bones have become old.
7And dim from sorrow is mine eye, And my members as a shadow all of them.
5Lo, handbreadths Thou hast made my days, And mine age `is' as nothing before Thee, Only, all vanity `is' every man set up. Selah.
10He breaketh me down round about, and I go, And removeth like a tree my hope.
4Man to vanity hath been like, His days `are' as a shadow passing by.
1Man, born of woman! Of few days, and full of trouble!
2As a flower he hath gone forth, and is cut off, And he fleeth as a shadow and standeth not.
1Is there not a warfare to man on earth? And as the days of an hireling his days?
3For consumed in smoke have been my days, And my bones as a fire-brand have burned.
14Whose confidence is loathsome, And the house of a spider his trust.
9For all our days pined away in Thy wrath, We consumed our years as a meditation.
7Only, now, it hath wearied me; Thou hast desolated all my company,
23He hath humbled in the way my power, He hath shortened my days.
7And, now, what have I expected? O Lord, my hope -- it `is' of Thee.
15He hath turned against me terrors, It pursueth as the wind mine abundance, And as a thick cloud, Hath my safety passed away.
16And now, in me my soul poureth itself out, Seize me do days of affliction.
4And my spirit in me is become feeble, Within me is my heart become desolate.
13If I wait -- Sheol `is' my house, In darkness I have spread out my couch.
13Is not my help with me, And substance driven from me?
23As a shadow when it is stretched out I have gone, I have been driven away as a locust.
28And he, as a rotten thing, weareth away, As a garment hath a moth consumed him.
15Sackcloth I have sewed on my skin, And have rolled in the dust my horn.
16My face is foul with weeping, And on mine eyelids `is' death-shade.
20From morning to evening are beaten down, Without any regarding, for ever they perish.
9(For of yesterday we `are', and we know not, For a shadow `are' our days on earth.)
3For now, than the sands of the sea it is heavier, Therefore my words have been rash.
4He hath worn out my flesh and my skin. He hath broken my bones.
20My tent hath been spoiled, And all my cords have been broken, My sons have gone out from me, and they are not, There is none stretching out any more my tent, And raising up my curtains.
7Old from provocation is mine eye, It is old because of all mine adversaries,
6In dark places He hath caused me to dwell, As the dead of old.
1My wo `is' to me, for I have been As gatherings of summer-fruit, As gleanings of harvest, There is no cluster to eat, The first-ripe fruit desired hath my soul.