The Desire for Rest in Death

Job 3:11-19

Why from the womb do I not die? From the belly I have come forth and gasp!

Wherefore have knees been before me? And what are breasts, that I suck?

For now, I have lain down, and am quiet, I have slept--then there is rest to me,

With kings and counsellors of earth, These building wastes for themselves.

Or with princes--they have gold, They are filling their houses with silver.

(Or as a hidden abortion I am not, As infants--they have not seen light.)

There the wicked have ceased troubling, And there rest do the wearied in power.

Together prisoners have been at ease, They have not heard the voice of an exactor,

Small and great are there the same. And a servant is free from his lord.