Beneath the sun my soul is sighing:
how brief a vapor is my life!
My gain is gone, my days are dying.
I chase the wind and stir up strife.
Why is my life, O God, not fruitful?
Will nothing last that I have done?
Life is unfair, for all is futile.
There's nothing new beneath the sun.
I told myself, “Perhaps some pleasure
will fill the void within my soul.
Perhaps hard work or gaining treasure
will make me wise and not a fool.”
But my delight turned into sorrow,
transformed before my very eyes.
What charms today dissolves tomorrow.
Earth never fully satisfies.
There is a season under heaven,
a task and time for everything.
I cannot grasp the span I’m given,
or know what future days will bring.
Time is not mine to store or squander:
life is God’s gift to everyone.
Go, eat and drink in joy, yet ponder
the work of wisdom He has done.
The wise embrace the house of mourning,
for days are not like wealth to spend.
But fools reject the fateful warning:
the grave will greet us in the end.
What words of woe await the wicked?
Will they escape the judgment throne?
The Shepherd will condemn the crooked:
exposing all, excusing none.
Our joy is tempered by frustration
amid the earth's futility,
but God will soon renew creation,
His plan from all eternity.
So the conclusion of the matter:
fear God and do as He commands.
We will remember You, Creator!
Our souls and works are in Your hands.