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"Why did I not die at birth? Why did I not perish when I came from the womb?
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Why did the knees receive me? Or why the breasts, that I should nurse?
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For now I would have lain still and been quiet, I would have been asleep; Then I would have been at rest
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With kings and counselors of the earth, Who built ruins for themselves,
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Or with princes who had gold, Who filled their houses with silver;
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Or why was I not hidden like a stillborn child, Like infants who never saw light?
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There the wicked cease from troubling, And there the weary are at rest.
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There the prisoners rest together; They do not hear the voice of the oppressor.
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The small and great are there, And the servant is free from his master.
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"Why is light given to him who is in misery, And life to the bitter of soul,
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Who long for death, but it does not come, And search for it more than hidden treasures;