O that my request may come, That God may grant my hope!
and he himself hath gone into the wilderness a day's Journey, and cometh and sitteth under a certain retem-tree, and desireth his soul to die, and saith, `Enough, now, O Jehovah, take my soul, for I `am' not better than my fathers.'
My soul hath been weary of my life, I leave off my talking to myself, I speak in the bitterness of my soul.
Who are waiting for death, and it is not, And they seek it above hid treasures.
Who are glad -- unto joy, They rejoice when they find a grave.
My soul is refusing to touch! They `are' as my sickening food.
That God would please -- and bruise me, Loose His hand and cut me off!
`Kaph.' Consumed for Thy salvation hath been my soul, For Thy word I have hoped.
And now, O Jehovah, take, I pray Thee, my soul from me, for better `is' my death than my life.'