Job 7:1-10 - Compare All Versions

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“Do not mortals have hard service on earth? Are not their days like those of hired laborers? Like a slave longing for the evening shadows, or a hired laborer waiting to be paid, so I have been allotted months of futility, and nights of misery have been assigned to me. When I lie down I think, ‘How long before I get up?’ The night drags on, and I toss and turn until dawn. My body is clothed with worms and scabs, my skin is broken and festering. “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and they come to an end without hope. Remember, O God, that my life is but a breath; my eyes will never see happiness again. The eye that now sees me will see me no longer; you will look for me, but I will be no more. As a cloud vanishes and is gone, so one who goes down to the grave does not return. He will never come to his house again; his place will know him no more.

“Has not man a hard service on earth, and are not his days like the days of a hired hand? Like a slave who longs for the shadow, and like a hired hand who looks for his wages, so I am allotted months of emptiness, and nights of misery are apportioned to me. When I lie down I say, ‘When shall I arise?’ But the night is long, and I toss and turn till the dawn. My flesh is clothed with worms and dirt; my skin hardens, then breaks out afresh. My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle and come to their end without hope. “Remember that my life is a breath; my eye will never again see good. The eye of him who sees me will behold me no more; while your eyes are on me, I shall be gone. As the cloud fades and vanishes, so he who goes down to Sheol does not come up; he returns no more to his house, nor does his place know him anymore.

“Is not all human life a struggle? Our lives are like that of a hired hand, like a worker who longs for the shade, like a servant waiting to be paid. I, too, have been assigned months of futility, long and weary nights of misery. Lying in bed, I think, ‘When will it be morning?’ But the night drags on, and I toss till dawn. My body is covered with maggots and scabs. My skin breaks open, oozing with pus. “My days fly faster than a weaver’s shuttle. They end without hope. O God, remember that my life is but a breath, and I will never again feel happiness. You see me now, but not for long. You will look for me, but I will be gone. Just as a cloud dissipates and vanishes, those who die will not come back. They are gone forever from their home— never to be seen again.

Isn’t each person consigned to forced labor  on earth? Are not his days like those of a hired worker? Like a slave he longs for shade; like a hired worker he waits for his pay. So I have been made to inherit months of futility, and troubled nights have been assigned to me.  When I lie down I think, “When will I get up? ” But the evening drags on endlessly, and I toss and turn until dawn. My flesh is clothed with maggots and encrusted with dirt.  My skin forms scabs  and then oozes.  My days pass more swiftly than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.  Remember that my life is but a breath. My eye will never again see anything good.  The eye of anyone who looks on me will no longer see me. Your eyes will look for me, but I will be gone.  As a cloud fades away and vanishes, so the one who goes down to Sheol  will never rise again. He will never return to his house; his hometown will no longer remember   him.

Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth? Are not his days also like the days of an hireling? 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. O remember that my life is wind: Mine eye shall no more see good. The eye of him that hath seen me shall see me no more: Thine eyes are upon me, and I am not. As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away: So he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more. He shall return no more to his house, Neither shall his place know him any more.

“Is there not a time of hard service for man on earth? Are not his days also like the days of a hired man? Like a servant who earnestly desires the shade, And like a hired man who eagerly looks for his wages, So I have been allotted months of futility, And wearisome nights have been appointed to me. When I lie down, I say, ‘When shall I arise, And the night be ended?’ For I have had my fill of tossing till dawn. My flesh is caked with worms and dust, My skin is cracked and breaks out afresh. “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, And are spent without hope. Oh, remember that my life is a breath! My eye will never again see good. The eye of him who sees me will see me no more; While your eyes are upon me, I shall no longer be. As the cloud disappears and vanishes away, So he who goes down to the grave does not come up. He shall never return to his house, Nor shall his place know him anymore.

“Human life is a struggle, isn’t it? It’s a life sentence to hard labor. Like field hands longing for quitting time and working stiffs with nothing to hope for but payday, I’m given a life that meanders and goes nowhere— months of aimlessness, nights of misery! I go to bed and think, ‘How long till I can get up?’ I toss and turn as the night drags on—and I’m fed up! I’m covered with maggots and scabs. My skin gets scaly and hard, then oozes with pus. My days come and go swifter than the click of knitting needles, and then the yarn runs out—an unfinished life! “God, don’t forget that I’m only a wisp of air! These eyes have had their last look at goodness. And your eyes have seen the last of me; even while you’re looking, there’ll be nothing left to look at. When a cloud evaporates, it’s gone for good; those who go to the grave never come back. They don’t return to visit their families; never again will friends drop in for coffee.

“Is a person not forced to labor on earth, And are his days not like the days of a hired worker? “As a slave pants for the shade, And as a hired worker who eagerly waits for his wages, So I am allotted worthless months, And nights of trouble are apportioned to me. “When I lie down, I say, ‘When shall I arise?’ But the night continues, And I am continually tossing until dawn. “My flesh is clothed with maggots and a crust of dirt, My skin hardens and oozes. “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, And they come to an end without hope. ¶“Remember that my life is a mere breath; My eye will not see goodness again. “The eye of him who sees me will no longer look at me; Your eyes will be on me, but I will not exist. “When a cloud vanishes, it is gone; In the same way one who goes down to Sheol does not come up. “He will not return to his house again, Nor will his place know about him anymore.

“Is not man forced to labor on earth? And are not his days like the days of a hired man? “As a slave earnestly longs for the shade, And as a hired man eagerly awaits his wages, So am I allotted months of futility and suffering, And [long] nights of trouble and misery are appointed to me. “When I lie down I say, ‘When shall I arise [and the night be gone]?’ But the night continues, And I am continually tossing until the dawning of day. “My body is clothed with worms and a crust of dust; My skin is hardened [and broken and loathsome], and [breaks out and] runs. “My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, And are spent without hope. ¶“Remember that my life is but breath [a puff of wind, a sigh]; My eye will not see good again. “The eye of him who sees me [now] will see me no more; Your eyes will be upon me, but I will not be. “As a cloud vanishes and is gone, So he who goes down to Sheol (the nether world, the place of the dead) does not come up. “He will not return again to his house, Nor will his place know about him anymore.

“Does not humanity have hard service on earth? Are not their days also like the days of a hired man? Like a servant longing for the evening shadow, and like a hired man looking for his wages, thus I have been made to inherit months of futility, and nights of sorrow have been appointed to me. If I lie down, I say, ‘When will I arise?’, and the night stretches on and I toss and turn restlessly until the day dawns. My body is clothed with worms and dirty scabs; my skin is broken and festering. My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle and they come to an end without hope. Remember that my life is but a breath, that my eyes will never again see happiness. The eye of him who sees me now will see me no more; your eyes will look for me, but I will be gone. As a cloud is dispersed and then disappears, so the one who goes down to the grave does not come up again. He returns no more to his house, nor does his place of residence know him any more.