And Jacob
said
unto Pharaoh,
The days
of the years
of my pilgrimage
are an hundred
and thirty years:
few and
evil
have
the days
of the years
of my life been,
and have not attained
unto the days
of the years
of the life
of my fathers
in the days
of their pilgrimage.
And David
sware moreover,
and said,
Thy father
certainly knoweth that
I have found
grace
in thine eyes;
and he saith,
Let
not Jonathan
know this,
lest
he be grieved:
but truly as the LORD liveth,
and as thy soul liveth,
there is
but a step
between me and death.
For we must needs die,
and are
as water
spilt on the ground,
which cannot be gathered
up again;
neither doth
God respect
any person:
yet doth
he devise means,
that his banished
be not expelled from him.
For we
are strangers
before thee,
and sojourners,
as were all our fathers:
our days
on the earth
are as a shadow,
and there is none abiding.
How much less
in them that
dwell in houses
of clay,
whose foundation
is in the dust,
which are crushed
before the moth?
They are destroyed
from morning
to evening:
they perish for
ever without any
regarding it.
Doth not
their excellency which
is in them go away?
they die,
even without wisdom.
My days
are swifter
than a weaver's shuttle,
and are spent
without hope.
O remember
that my life
is wind:
mine
eye
shall no more
see good.
The eye
of him that
hath seen me
shall see me
no more:
thine eyes
are upon me,
and I
am not.
As the cloud
is consumed
and vanisheth away:
so he
that goeth down
to the grave
shall come
up no more.
He shall return
no more
to his house,
neither shall
his place
know him any more.
(For we
are
but of yesterday,
and know nothing,
because our days
upon earth
are a shadow:)
Now my days
are swifter
than a post:
they flee away,
they see
no good.
Remember,
I beseech thee,
that thou
hast made me
as the clay;
and wilt
thou bring me
into dust again?
Are not
my days few?
cease then,
and let me alone,
that I
may take
comfort
a little,
Before I
go whence I
shall not return,
even to the land
of darkness
and the shadow
of death;
Your remembrances
are like
unto ashes,
your bodies to bodies
of clay.
And he,
as a rotten thing,
consumeth,
as a garment
that is moth eaten.
Man that is born
of a woman
is of few days
and full of trouble.
My breath
is corrupt,
my days
are extinct,
the graves
are ready
for me.
All
they that
be fat
upon earth
shall eat
and worship:
all they
that go down
to the dust
shall bow
before him:
and none
can keep
alive his own soul.
LORD,
make me to know
mine end,
and the measure
of my days,
what it is:
that I
may know how frail
I am.
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.
Surely
every man
walketh in a vain shew:
surely
they are disquieted
in vain:
he heapeth up riches,
and knoweth not
who shall gather them.
When
thou with rebukes
dost correct man
for iniquity,
thou makest
his beauty
to consume away like
a moth:
surely every man
is vanity.
Selah.
For he
remembered that
they were
but flesh;
a wind that passeth away,
and cometh
not again.
Remember how
short my time is:
wherefore hast
thou made all men
in vain?
What man
is
he that liveth,
and shall not see
death?
shall
he deliver
his soul
from the hand
of the grave?
Selah.
Thou turnest man
to destruction;
and sayest,
Return,
ye children
of men.
Thou carriest them away
as with a flood;
they are as a sleep:
in the morning
they are like grass
which groweth up.
In the morning it flourisheth,
and groweth up;
in the evening
it is cut down,
and withereth.
For all
our days
are passed away
in thy wrath:
we spend
our years
as a tale
that is told.
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.
My days
are like
a shadow
that declineth;
and
I am withered like grass.
For he
knoweth our frame;
he remembereth that
we are dust.
As for man,
his days
are as grass:
as a flower
of the field,
so he flourisheth.
For the wind passeth
over it,
and it
is gone;
and the place
thereof shall know
it no more.
Man is like
to vanity:
his days
are as a shadow
that passeth away.
His breath
goeth forth,
he returneth to his earth;
in that very day
his thoughts perish.
Boast
not thyself of
to morrow;
for thou
knowest not
what a day
may bring forth.
One generation passeth away,
and
another generation cometh:
but the earth abideth
for ever.
For who
knoweth what
is good
for man
in this life,
all the days
of his vain life
which he
spendeth as a shadow?
for who
can tell
a man what
shall be
after him
under the sun?
Cease
ye from man,
whose breath
is in his nostrils:
for wherein is
he to be accounted of ?
Mine
age
is departed,
and is removed
from me
as a shepherd's tent:
I have cut off like
a weaver my life:
he will cut
me off
with pining sickness:
from day
even to night
wilt
thou make
an end of me.
The voice said,
Cry.
And he said,
What
shall I cry?
All flesh
is grass,
and all
the goodliness
thereof is
as the flower
of the field:
The grass withereth,
the flower fadeth:
because
the spirit
of the LORD
bloweth upon it:
surely the people
is grass.
Yea,
they shall not be planted;
yea,
they shall not be sown:
yea,
their stock
shall not take
root
in the earth:
and
he shall also blow upon them,
and
they shall wither,
and the whirlwind
shall take them away
as stubble.
For the moth
shall eat them
up like a garment,
and the worm
shall eat them like wool:
but my righteousness
shall be
for ever,
and my salvation
from generation to generation.
I,
even I,
am he
that comforteth you:
who art thou,
that thou
shouldest be afraid
of a man
that shall die,
and
of the son
of man which
shall be made
as grass;
But
we are all
as an unclean thing,
and all
our righteousnesses
are as filthy rags;
and
we all do fade
as a leaf;
and our iniquities,
like the wind,
have taken us away.
But God
said unto him,
Thou fool,
this night
thy soul
shall be required
of thee:
then
whose shall those things be,
which thou
hast provided?
But the rich,
in that
he is made low:
because
as the flower
of the grass
he shall pass away.
For the sun
is no sooner
risen
with a burning heat,
but it
withereth
the grass,
and the flower
thereof falleth,
and the grace
of the fashion
of it perisheth:
so also shall
the rich man
fade away
in his ways.
Whereas
ye know not what
shall be
on the morrow.
For what
is your life?
It is even
a vapour,
that appeareth for a little time,
and
then vanisheth away.