He beats me down on every side until I’m gone. He uproots my hope like a tree.
When he tears ⌞something⌟ down, it cannot be rebuilt. When he puts someone in prison, that person cannot be freed.
⌞so⌟ water wears away stone, floods wash away soil from the land, and you destroy a mortal’s hope.
My days are passing by. My plans are broken. My dreams ⌞are shattered⌟.
then where is my hope? Can you see any hope left in me?
Satan left the Lord’s presence and struck Job with painful boils from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.
The womb forgets them. Worms feast on them. No one remembers them anymore, and wickedness is snapped like a twig.
What strength do I have ⌞left⌟ that I can go on hoping? What goal do I have that I would want to prolong my life?
My days go swifter than a weaver’s shuttle. They are spent without hope.
My days are like a shadow that is getting longer, and I wither away like grass.