Man born of woman
is short of days and full of trouble.

You would call, and I would answer You.
You would long for the work of Your hands.

For then You would count my steps
but would not take note of my sin.

My rebellion would be sealed up in a bag,
and You would cover over my iniquity.

But as a mountain collapses and crumbles
and a rock is dislodged from its place,

If his sons receive honor, he does not know it;
if they become insignificant, he is unaware of it.

He feels only the pain of his own body
and mourns only for himself.

as water wears away stones
and torrents wash away the soil from the land,
so You destroy a man’s hope.

You completely overpower him, and he passes on;
You change his appearance and send him away.

Who can produce something pure from what is impure?
No one!

When a man dies, will he come back to life?
If so, I would wait all the days of my struggle
until my relief comes.

There is hope for a tree:
If it is cut down, it will sprout again,
and its shoots will not die.

Since man’s days are determined
and the number of his months depends on You,
and since You have set limits he cannot pass,

so man lies down never to rise again.
They will not wake up until the heavens are no more;
they will not stir from their sleep.

He blossoms like a flower, then withers;
he flees like a shadow and does not last.

But a man dies and fades away;
he breathes his last—where is he?

If only You would hide me in Sheol
and conceal me until Your anger passes.
If only You would appoint a time for me
and then remember me.

look away from him and let him rest
so that he can enjoy his day like a hired hand.

As water disappears from the sea
and a river becomes parched and dry,

Do You really take notice of one like this?
Will You bring me into judgment against You?

If its roots grow old in the ground
and its stump starts to die in the soil,

the smell of water makes it thrive
and produce twigs like a sapling.