1 MY soul is weary of my life; I have reasoned in my judgment; I will speak in the bitterness of my soul.

2 I will say to God. Do not condemn me; show me why thou dost contend with me.

3 Is it not enough to thee that thou shouldst oppress, that thou shouldst despise the work of thy hands, and regard the counsel of the wicked?

4 Hast thou eyes of flesh? Or seest thou as a man sees?

5 Are thy days as the days of men? Are thy years as man's days?

6 That thou enquirest after my iniquity, and searchest after my sins?

7 Thou knowest that I am innocent; and there is none that can deliver himself out of thy hands.

8 Thy hands have made me and fashioned me: and afterward thou wishest to condemn me, and to destroy me.

9 Remember that thou hast made me as clay; and wilt thou bring me into dust again?

10 Thou hast churned me as milk, and curdled me as cheese.

11 Thou hast clothed me with skin and flesh, and hast strengthened me with bones and sinews.

12 Thou hast granted me life and peace, and thy commandments have preserved my spirit.

13 And these things hast thou hid in thy heart; I know that this is in thy mind.

14 if I sin, then thou dost watch me, and thou dost not acquit me from my iniquity.

15 If I be wicked, woe is me! and if I be righteous, still I cannot lift up my head. I have enough of reproach; I have seen my affliction.

16 And if I exalt myself, thou dost hunt me like a lion, and then thou dost turn and show thyself gigantic over me.

17 Thou hast set thy armor against me, and increasest thy indignation toward me. Thou dost array one host after another against me.

18 Wherefore then hast thou brought me forth out of the womb? Would that I had died, and no eye had seen me!

19 I should have been as though I had not lived; I should have been carried from the womb to the grave.

20 The days of my life are few; let me alone, that I may be quiet and rest a little

21 Before I go from whence I shall not return, even to the land of darkness and the shadow of death.

22 A land of loneliness and deep darkness, and of the shadow of death, without any order or time; wearisome like a deep pit.