He breaks me down on every side, and I am gone, and my hope has he pulled up like a tree.
If he tears down, none can rebuild; if he shuts a man in, none can open.
the waters wear away the stones; the torrents wash away the soil of the earth; so thou destroyest the hope of man.
My days are past, my plans are broken off, the desires of my heart.
where then is my hope? Who will see my hope?
So Satan went forth from the presence of the Lord, and afflicted Job with loathsome sores from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head.
The squares of the town forget them; their name is no longer remembered; so wickedness is broken like a tree.’
What is my strength, that I should wait? And what is my end, that I should be patient?
My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and come to their end without hope.
My days are like an evening shadow; I wither away like grass.