Man, born of woman! Of few days, and full of trouble!
As a flower he hath gone forth, and is cut off, And he fleeth as a shadow and standeth not.
Also -- on this Thou hast opened Thine eyes, And dost bring me into judgment with Thee.
Who giveth a clean thing out of an unclean? not one.
If determined are his days, The number of his months are with Thee, His limit Thou hast made, And he passeth not over;
Look away from off him that he may cease, Till he enjoy as an hireling his day.
For there is of a tree hope, if it be cut down, That again it doth change, That its tender branch doth not cease.
If its root becometh old in the earth, And its stem doth die in the dust,
From the fragrance of water it doth flourish, And hath made a crop as a plant.
And a man dieth, and becometh weak, And man expireth, and where is he?
Waters have gone away from a sea, And a river becometh waste and dry.
And man hath lain down, and riseth not, Till the wearing out of the heavens they awake not, Nor are roused from their sleep.
O that in Sheol Thou wouldest conceal me, Hide me till the turning of Thine anger, Set for me a limit, and remember me.
If a man dieth -- doth he revive? All days of my warfare I wait, till my change come.
Thou dost call, and I -- I answer Thee; To the work of Thy hands Thou hast desire.
But now, my steps Thou numberest, Thou dost not watch over my sin.
Sealed up in a bag is my transgression, And Thou sewest up mine iniquity.
And yet, a falling mountain wasteth away, And a rock is removed from its place.
Stones have waters worn away, Their outpourings wash away the dust of earth, And the hope of man Thou hast destroyed.
Thou prevailest over him for ever, and he goeth, He is changing his countenance, And Thou sendest him away.
Honoured are his sons, and he knoweth not; And they are little, and he attendeth not to them.
Only -- his flesh for him is pained, And his soul for him doth mourn.'