| Tuesday, July 05, 2005 |
| Job 7 |
As a servant desiring the shades of evening, and a workman looking for his payment:
So I have for my heritage months of pain to no purpose, and nights of weariness are given to me.
When I go to my bed, I say, When will it be time to get up? but the night is long, and I am turning from side to side till morning light.
My flesh is covered with worms and dust; my skin gets hard and then is cracked again.
My days go quicker than the cloth-worker's thread, and come to an end without hope.
O, keep in mind that my life is wind: my eye will never again see good. |
posted by tingfung @ 10:46 PM  |
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