When the sun rose, God appointed a scorching east wind, and the sun beat upon the head of Jonah so that he became faint and asked that he might die. He said, “It is better for me to die than to live.”
You also say, “What a weariness it is,” and you snort at it, says the Lord of Hosts. You bring in what is stolen, the lame, or the sick; thus you bring an offering! Should I accept this from your hand? says the Lord.
For the sun rises with a burning heat and it withers the grass, and its flowers fall, and its beauty perishes. So will the rich man wither away in his ways.