What time they wax warm, they vanish: when it is hot, they are consumed out of their place.

Though a man comes to nothing like a bit of dead wood, or like a robe which has become food for the worm.

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

They lie down alike in the dust, And the worm covereth them.

As to the man of arm -- he hath the earth, And the accepted of face -- he dwelleth in it.

The womb shall forget him; the worm shall feed sweetly on him; he shall be no more remembered; and wickedness shall be broken as a tree.

How much less man, that is a worm? and the son of man, which is a worm?

How hast thou helped him that is without power? how savest thou the arm that hath no strength?

“They pluck [and eat] saltwort (mallows) among the bushes,
And their food is the root of the broom shrub.

If his loins have not blessed me, And from the fleece of my sheep He doth not warm himself,

Then let mine arm fall from my shoulder blade, and mine arm be broken from the bone.

By reason of the multitude of oppressions they make the oppressed to cry: they cry out by reason of the arm of the mighty.

How thy garments are warm, when he quieteth the earth by the south wind?

And from the wicked their light is withholden, and the high arm shall be broken.

For she leaveth on the earth her eggs, And on the dust she doth warm them,

Hast thou an arm like God? or canst thou thunder with a voice like him?

Then arm thyself with thine own power! Up, deck thee in thy jolly array,