Job 17:1

American Standard Version (1901)

My spirit is consumed, my days are extinct, The grave is ready for me.

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For I will not contend for ever, neither will I be always wroth; for the spirit would faint before me, and the souls that I have made.

And after this Job lived a hundred and forty years, and saw his sons, and his sons’ sons, even four generations.

My breath is strange to my wife, And my supplication to the children of mine own mother.

What is my strength, that I should wait? And what is mine end, that I should be patient?

My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, And are spent without hope.

For when a few years are come, I shall go the way whence I shall not return.

My days are past, my purposes are broken off, Even the thoughts of my heart.