Your pomp is brought down to the grave, and the sound of your harps: the maggot is spread under you, and the worms cover you.

In the day shall you make your plant to grow, and in the morning shall you make your seed to flourish: but the harvest shall be a heap of ruins in the day of grief and of desperate sorrow.

I said in the cutting off of my days, I shall go to the gates of the grave: I am deprived of the rest of my years.

For the grave cannot praise you, death can not celebrate you: they that go down into the pit cannot hope for your truth.

He is despised and rejected of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him; he was despised, and we esteemed him not.

And he made his grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death; because he had done no violence, neither was any deceit in his mouth.

Yet it pleased the LORD to bruise him; he has put him to grief: when you shall make his soul an offering for sin, he shall see his offspring, he shall prolong his days, and the will of the LORD shall prosper in his hand.