Job 17:1

My breath faileth, my days are shortened. I am hard at death's door.

What power have I to endure? Or, what is mine end, that my soul might be patient?

Though I tarry never so much, yet the grave is my house, and I must make my bed in the dark.

Mine own wife may not abide my breath, I was fain to speak fair for the children of mine own body.

After this lived Job forty years, so that he saw his children, and his children's children to the fourth generation.

For my soul is full of trouble, and my life draweth nigh unto hell.

"I thought I should have gone to the gates of hell in my best age, and have wanted the residue of my years.

For I chide not ever, and am not wroth without end. But the blasting goeth from me, though I make the breath.

Treasury of Scripture Knowledge

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

Mine own wife may not abide my breath, I was fain to speak fair for the children of mine own body.

What power have I to endure? Or, what is mine end, that my soul might be patient?

After this lived Job forty years, so that he saw his children, and his children's children to the fourth generation.

For I chide not ever, and am not wroth without end. But the blasting goeth from me, though I make the breath.

Though I tarry never so much, yet the grave is my house, and I must make my bed in the dark.

For my soul is full of trouble, and my life draweth nigh unto hell.

"I thought I should have gone to the gates of hell in my best age, and have wanted the residue of my years.