¹¹ What is my strength, that I should hope? and what is mine end, that I should prolong my life?

¹⁴ For he knoweth our frame; he remembereth that we are dust.

¹⁵ As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth.

¹⁶ For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.

²³ He weakened my strength in the way; he shortened my days.

⁵ Behold, thou hast made my days as an handbreadth; and mine age is as nothing before thee: verily every man at his best state is altogether vanity. Selah.

¹ My breath is corrupt, my days are extinct, the graves are ready for me.

⁵ Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep: in the morning they are like grass which groweth up.

⁶ In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth.

⁷ For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath are we troubled.

⁸ Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.

⁹ For all our days are passed away in thy wrath: we spend our years as a tale that is told.

¹⁰ The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

⁴ As for me, is my complaint to man? and if it were so, why should not my spirit be troubled?

¹⁴ I have said to corruption, Thou art my father: to the worm, Thou art my mother, and my sister.

¹⁵ And where is now my hope? as for my hope, who shall see it?

¹⁶ They shall go down to the bars of the pit, when our rest together is in the dust.

²⁸ And he, as a rotten thing, consumeth, as a garment that is moth eaten.

²⁵ Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro? and wilt thou pursue the dry stubble?

²⁰ Are not my days few? cease then, and let me alone, that I may take comfort a little,

⁵ My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; my skin is broken, and become loathsome.

⁶ My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope.

⁷ O remember that my life is wind: mine eye shall no more see good.