Swifter Than a Weaver's Shuttle — Job 7:1–7

Is there not a warfare to man upon earth?
And are not his days like the days of a hireling?

As a servant that earnestly desireth the shadow,
And as a hireling that looketh for his wages:

So am I made to possess months of misery,
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 closeth up, and breaketh out afresh.

My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle,
And are spent without hope.

Oh remember that my life is a breath:
Mine eye shall no more see good.