My spirit is broken, my days are cut short, the grave awaits me.
“Only a few years will pass before I take the path of no return.
My days have passed, my plans are shattered. Yet the desires of my heart
My breath is offensive to my wife; I am loathsome to my own family.
After this, Job lived a hundred and forty years; he saw his children and their children to the fourth generation.
“What strength do I have, that I should still hope? What prospects, that I should be patient?
“My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and they come to an end without hope.
I will not accuse them forever, nor will I always be angry, for then they would faint away because of me— the very people I have created.