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									“Man, born of woman! Of few days, and full of trouble!
								
							 
																								
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									As a flower he has gone forth, and is cut off, || And he flees as a shadow and does not stand.
								
							 
																								
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									Also—on this You have opened Your eyes, and bring me into judgment with You.
								
							 
																								
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									Who gives a clean thing out of an unclean? Not one.
								
							 
																								
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									If his days are determined, || The number of his months [are] with You, || You have made his limit, || And he does not pass over;
								
							 
																								
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									Look away from off him that he may cease, || Until he enjoy as a hired worker his day.
								
							 
																								
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									For there is hope for a tree, if it is cut down, || That it changes again, || That its tender branch does not cease.
								
							 
																								
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									If its root becomes old in the earth, || And its stem dies in the dust,
								
							 
																								
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									From the fragrance of water it flourishes, || And has made a crop as a plant.
								
							 
																								
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									And a man dies, and becomes weak, || And man expires, and where [is] he?
								
							 
																								
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									Waters have gone away from a sea, || And a river becomes waste and dry.
								
							 
																								
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									And man has lain down, and does not rise, || Until the wearing out of the heavens they do not awaken, || Nor are roused from their sleep.
								
							 
																								
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									O that You would conceal me in Sheol, || Hide me until the turning of Your anger, || Set a limit for me, and remember me.
								
							 
																								
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									If a man dies—does he revive? All [the] days of my warfare I wait, until my change comes.
								
							 
																								
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									You call, and I answer You; To the work of Your hands You have desire.
								
							 
																								
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									But now, You number my steps, || You do not watch over my sin.
								
							 
																								
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									My transgression [is] sealed up in a bag, and You sew up my iniquity.
								
							 
																								
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									And yet, a falling mountain wastes away, and a rock is removed from its place.
								
							 
																								
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									Waters have worn away stones, || Their outpourings wash away the dust of earth, || And You have destroyed the hope of man.
								
							 
																								
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									You prevail [over] him forever, and he goes, || He is changing his countenance, || And You send him away.
								
							 
																								
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									His sons are honored, and he does not know; And they are little, and he does not attend to them.
								
							 
																								
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									Only—his flesh is pained for him, || And his soul mourns for him.”
								
							 
																						
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