Job broke the silence and cursed the day of his birth. This is what he said:

May the day perish when I was born,
  and the night that told of a boy conceived.
Why did I not die new-born,
  not perish as I left the womb?
Why were there two knees to receive me,
  two breasts for me to suck?
Had there not been, I should now be lying in peace,
  wrapped in a restful slumber,
with the kings and high viziers of earth
  who build themselves vast vaults,
or with princes who have gold and to spare
  and houses crammed with silver.
Or put away like a still-born child that never came to be,
  like unborn babes that never see the light.
Down there, bad men bustle no more,
  there the weary rest.

Why give light to a man of grief?
  Why give life to those bitter of heart,
who long for a death that never comes,
  and hunt for it more than for a buried treasure?
They would be glad to see the grave-mound
  and shout with joy if they reached the tomb.
Why make this gift of light to a man who does not see his way,
  whom God baulks on every side?

Let my prayer come into your presence, O Lord.

Lord my God, I call for help by day;
  I cry at night before you.
Let my prayer come into your presence.
  O turn your ear to my cry.

Let my prayer come into your presence, O Lord.

For my soul is filled with evils;
  my life is on the brink of the grave.
I am reckoned as one in the tomb:
  I have reached the end of my strength.

Let my prayer come into your presence, O Lord.

Like one alone among the dead;
  like the slain lying in their graves;
like those you remember no more,
  cut off, as they are, from your hand.

Let my prayer come into your presence, O Lord.

You have laid me in the depths of the tomb,
  in places that are dark, in the depths.
Your anger weighs down upon me:
  I am drowned beneath your waves.

Let my prayer come into your presence, O Lord.

Alleluia, alleluia!
Bend my heart to your will, O Lord,
and teach me your law.
Alleluia!