Job, Chapter 7

(1) Is there not an appointed time to man upon earth? are not his days also like the days of an hireling? (2) As a servant earnestly desireth the shadow, and as an hireling looketh for the reward of his work: (3) So am I made to possess months of vanity, and wearisome nights are appointed to me. (4) When I lie down, I say, When shall I arise, and the night be gone? and I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day. (5) My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin is broken, and become loathsome. (6) My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope. (7) O remember that my life is wind: mine eye shall no more see good. (8) The eye of him that hath seen me shall see me no more: thine eyes are upon me, and I am not. (9) As the cloud is consumed and vanisheth away: so he that goeth down to the grave shall come up no more. (10) He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more. (11) Therefore I will not refrain my mouth; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul. (12) Am I a sea, or a whale, that thou settest a watch over me? (13) When I say, My bed shall comfort me, my couch shall ease my complaint; (14) Then thou scarest me with dreams, and terrifiest me through visions: (15) So that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than my life. (16) I loathe it; I would not live alway: let me alone; for my days are vanity. (17) What is man, that thou shouldest magnify him? and that thou shouldest set thine heart upon him? (18) And that thou shouldest visit him every morning, and try him every moment? (19) How long wilt thou not depart from me, nor let me alone till I swallow down my spittle? (20) I have sinned; what shall I do unto thee, O thou preserver of men? why hast thou set me as a mark against thee, so that I am a burden to myself? (21) And why dost thou not pardon my transgression, and take away mine iniquity? for now shall I sleep in the dust; and thou shalt seek me in the morning, but I shall not be.

A Random Prayer...

Veni Creator

Come, O Creator Spirit blest! And in our souls take up Thy rest; Come with Thy grace and heavenly aid, To fill the hearts which Thou hast made. Great Paraclete! To Thee we cry, O highest gift of God most high! O font of life! O fire of love! And sweet anointing from above. Thou in Thy sevenfold gifts art known, The finger of God's hand we own; The promise of the Father, Thou! Who dost the tongue with power endow. Kindle our senses from above, And make our hearts overflow with love; With patience firm and virtue high The weakness of our flesh supply. Far from us drive the foe we dread, And grant us Thy true peace instead; So shall we not, with Thee for guide, Turn from the path of life aside. Oh, may Thy grace on us bestow The Father and the Son to know, And Thee, through endless times confessed, Of both, the eternal Spirit blest. All glory while the ages run Be to the Father and the Son Who rose from death; the same to Thee, O Holy Spirit, eternally. Amen.

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