“‘Your hands have framed me and fashioned me altogether, yet you destroy me. Remember, I beg you, that you have fashioned me as clay. Will you bring me into dust again? Haven’t you poured me out like milk, and curdled me like cheese? You have clothed me with skin and flesh, and knit me together with bones and sinews. You have granted me life and loving kindness. Your visitation has preserved my spirit. Yet you hid these things in your heart. I know that this is with you: if I sin, then you mark me. You will not acquit me from my iniquity. If I am wicked, woe to me. If I am righteous, I still will not lift up my head, being filled with disgrace, and conscious of my affliction. If my head is held high, you hunt me like a lion. Again you show yourself powerful to me. You renew your witnesses against me, and increase your indignation on me. Changes and warfare are with me.
“‘Why, then, have you brought me out of the womb? I wish I had given up the spirit, and no eye had seen me. I should have been as though I had not been. I should have been carried from the womb to the grave. Aren’t my days few? Stop! Leave me alone, that I may find a little comfort, before I go where I will not return from, to the land of darkness and of the shadow of death; the land dark as midnight, of the shadow of death, without any order, where the light is as midnight.’”