“What is my strength, that I should wait?
And what is my end, that I should endure?
“My flesh is clothed with worms and a crust of dirt,
My skin hardens and runs.
“Would He not let my few days alone?
Withdraw from me that I may have a little cheer
“Will You cause a driven leaf to tremble?
Or will You pursue the dry chaff?
While I am decaying like a rotten thing,
Like a garment that is moth-eaten.
“My spirit is broken, my days are extinguished,
The grave is ready for me.
If I call to the pit, ‘You are my father’;
To the worm, ‘my mother and my sister’;
“As for me, is my complaint to man?
And why should I not be impatient?
“Behold, You have made my days as handbreadths,
And my lifetime as nothing in Your sight;
Surely every man at his best is a mere breath. Selah.
You have swept them away like a flood, they fall asleep;
In the morning they are like grass which sprouts anew.
He has weakened my strength in the way;
He has shortened my days.
For He Himself knows our frame;
He is mindful that we are but dust.