1 Não é penosa a vida do homem sobre a terra?

Não são os seus dias como os de um jornaleiro?

2 Como o escravo que suspira pela sombra

e como o jornaleiro que espera pela sua paga,

3 assim me deram por herança meses de desengano

e noites de aflição me proporcionaram.

4 Ao deitar-me, digo: quando me levantarei?

Mas comprida é a noite,

e farto-me de me revolver na cama, até à alva.

5 A minha carne está vestida de vermes e de crostas terrosas;

a minha pele se encrosta e de novo supura.

6 Os meus dias são mais velozes do que a lançadeira do tecelão

e se findam sem esperança.

7 Lembra-te de que a minha vida é um sopro;

os meus olhos não tornarão a ver o bem.

8 Os olhos dos que agora me veem não me verão mais;

os teus olhos me procurarão, mas já não serei.

9 Tal como a nuvem se desfaz e passa,

aquele que desce à sepultura jamais tornará a subir.

10 Nunca mais tornará à sua casa,

nem o lugar onde habita o conhecerá jamais.

11 Por isso, não reprimirei a boca,

falarei na angústia do meu espírito,

queixar-me-ei na amargura da minha alma.

12 Acaso, sou eu o mar ou algum monstro marinho,

para que me ponhas guarda?

13 Dizendo eu: consolar-me-á o meu leito,

a minha cama aliviará a minha queixa,

14 então, me espantas com sonhos

e com visões me assombras;

15 pelo que a minha alma escolheria, antes, ser estrangulada;

antes, a morte do que esta tortura.

16 Estou farto da minha vida;

não quero viver para sempre.

Deixa-me, pois, porque os meus dias são um sopro.

17 Que é o homem, para que tanto o estimes,

e ponhas nele o teu cuidado,

18 e cada manhã o visites,

e cada momento o ponhas à prova?

19 Até quando não apartarás de mim a tua vista?

Até quando não me darás tempo de engolir a minha saliva?

20 Se pequei, que mal te fiz a ti, ó Espreitador dos homens?

Por que fizeste de mim um alvo para ti,

para que a mim mesmo me seja pesado?

21 Por que não perdoas a minha transgressão

e não tiras a minha iniquidade?

Pois agora me deitarei no pó;

e, se me buscas, já não serei.

1 Is there not a warfare to man upon earth?

And are not his days like the days of a hireling?

2 As a servant that earnestly desireth the shadow,

And as a hireling that looketh for his wages:

3 So am I made to possess months of misery,

And wearisome nights are appointed to me.

4 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.

5 My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust;

My skin closeth up, and breaketh out afresh.

6 My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle,

And are spent without hope.

7 Oh remember that my life is a breath:

Mine eye shall no more see good.

8 The eye of him that seeth me shall behold me no more;

Thine eyes shall be upon me, but I shall not be.

9 As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away,

So he that goeth down to Sheol shall come up no more.

10 He shall return no more to his house,

Neither shall his place know him any more.

11 Therefore I will not refrain my mouth;

I will speak in the anguish of my spirit;

I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.

12 Am I a sea, or a sea-monster,

That thou settest a watch over me?

13 When I say, My bed shall comfort me,

My couch shall ease my complaint;

14 Then thou scarest me with dreams,

And terrifiest me through visions:

15 So that my soul chooseth strangling,

And death rather than these my bones.

16 I loathe my life; I would not live alway:

Let me alone; for my days are vanity.

17 What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him,

And that thou shouldest set thy mind upon him,

18 And that thou shouldest visit him every morning,

And try him every moment?

19 How long wilt thou not look away from me,

Nor let me alone till I swallow down my spittle?

20 If I have sinned, what do I unto thee, O thou watcher of men?

Why hast thou set me as a mark for thee,

So that I am a burden to myself?

21 And why dost thou not pardon my transgression, and take away mine iniquity?

For now shall I lie down in the dust;

And thou wilt seek me diligently, but I shall not be.

1 "Do not mortals have hard service on earth? Are not their days like those of hired laborers?

2 Like a slave longing for the evening shadows, or a hired laborer waiting to be paid,

3 so I have been allotted months of futility, and nights of misery have been assigned to me.

4 When I lie down I think, 'How long before I get up?' The night drags on, and I toss and turn until dawn.

5 My body is clothed with worms and scabs, my skin is broken and festering.

6 "My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and they come to an end without hope.

7 Remember, O God, that my life is but a breath; my eyes will never see happiness again.

8 The eye that now sees me will see me no longer; you will look for me, but I will be no more.

9 As a cloud vanishes and is gone, so one who goes down to the grave does not return.

10 He will never come to his house again; his place will know him no more.

11 "Therefore I will not keep silent; I will speak out in the anguish of my spirit, I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.

12 Am I the sea, or the monster of the deep, that you put me under guard?

13 When I think my bed will comfort me and my couch will ease my complaint,

14 even then you frighten me with dreams and terrify me with visions,

15 so that I prefer strangling and death, rather than this body of mine.

16 I despise my life; I would not live forever. Let me alone; my days have no meaning.

17 "What is mankind that you make so much of them, that you give them so much attention,

18 that you examine them every morning and test them every moment?

19 Will you never look away from me, or let me alone even for an instant?

20 If I have sinned, what have I done to you, you who sees everything we do? Why have you made me your target? Have I become a burden to you? [^1]

21 Why do you not pardon my offenses and forgive my sins? For I will soon lie down in the dust; you will search for me, but I will be no more."