Job 7 in the early church

“Is not man consigned to labor on earth? Are not his days like those of a hired hand?

Like a slave he longs for shade; like a hireling he waits for his wages.

So I am allotted months of futility, and nights of misery are appointed to me.

When I lie down I think: ‘When will I get up?’ But the night drags on, and I toss and turn until dawn.

My flesh is clothed with worms and encrusted with dirt; my skin is cracked and festering.

My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.

As a cloud vanishes and is gone, so he who goes down to Sheol does not come back up.

He never returns to his house; his place remembers him no more.

When I think my bed will comfort me and my couch will ease my complaint,

then You frighten me with dreams and terrify me with visions,

so that I would prefer strangling and death over my life in this body.

I loathe my life! I would not live forever. Leave me alone, for my days are but a breath.

If I have sinned, what have I done to You, O watcher of mankind? Why have You made me Your target, so that I am a burden to You?

Why do You not pardon my transgression and take away my iniquity? For soon I will lie down in the dust; You will seek me, but I will be no more.”