Is not human life on earth just conscript service? Do we not live a hireling’s life? Like a slave, sighing for the shade, or a hireling with no thought but for his wages, I have months of futility assigned to me, nights of suffering to be my lot. Lying in bed I wonder, ‘When will it be day?’ No sooner up than, ‘When will evening come?’ And crazy thoughts obsess me till twilight falls. Vermin and loathsome scabs cover my body; my skin is cracked and oozes pus. Swifter than a weaver’s shuttle my days have passed, and vanished, leaving no hope behind. Remember that my life is but a breath, and that my eyes will never again see joy. — (Job 7:1-7)
