How short is life, how full of trouble!
Like a passing shadow, we quickly disappear.
and demand an accounting from me?
No one!
You know how many months we will live,
and we are not given a minute longer.
We are like hired hands, so let us finish our work in peace.
If it is cut down, it will sprout again
and grow new branches.
and its stump decays,
and sprout again like a new seedling.
They breathe their last, and then where are they?
and a river disappears in drought,
Until the heavens are no more, they will not wake up
nor be roused from their sleep.
and forget me there until your anger has passed.
But mark your calendar to think of me again!
If so, this would give me hope through all my years of struggle,
and I would eagerly await the release of death.
and you would yearn for me, your handiwork.
instead of watching for my sins.
and you would cover my guilt.
and as rocks fall from a cliff,
and floods wash away the soil,
so you destroy people’s hope.
You disfigure them in death and send them away.
or sink to insignificance.
their life is full of trouble.”