But I am sorrowful even on minor things.
For sin is an estrangement from God.
How should I bear God, in a state of loss?
For you, sleep is satisfying, and you lay down on both sides.
Sweet are the dreams that mirror the day's events.
You drink, you dice, you clutch, you flirt, you laugh.
For me, the greater part of life is sleepless.
For pains stab at me even when I lie resting,
and when I do snatch a little sleep, I weep.
And the rude night's appearances frighten me,
the judgement, a judge not well-disposed to me, while I stand
here a fountain with fire unquenchable boiling;
there, a worm forever gnawing;
in the middle, conscience, an unwritten prosecutor.
But God is my support and consolation,
when I am hungry, shivering, and in straits.
Go on, act tough, beat up on me, call me low-born and poor,
stomp and push; you won't be acting tough much longer.