As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow, And as an hireling looketh for the reward of his work: So am I made to possess months of vanity, And wearisome nights are appointed to me. 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. My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; My skin is broken, and become loathsome. My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, And are spent without hope.
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