There is not thence any more a suckling of days, And an aged man who doth not complete his days, For the youth a hundred years old dieth, And the sinner, a hundred years old, is lightly esteemed.

They do not build, and another inhabit, They do not plant, and another eat, For as the days of a tree are the days of My people, And the work of their hands wear out do My chosen ones.