What is my strength, that I should wait? And what is mine end, that I should be patient?
He weakened my strength in the way; He shortened my days.
Behold, thou hast made my days as handbreadths; And my life-time is as nothing before thee: Surely every man at his best estate is altogether vanity. [Selah
My spirit is consumed, my days are extinct, The grave is ready for me.
As for me, is my complaint to man? And why should I not be impatient?
Though I am like a rotten thing that consumeth, Like a garment that is moth-eaten.
Wilt thou harass a driven leaf? And wilt thou pursue the dry stubble?
Are not my days few? cease then, And let me alone, that I may take comfort a little,
Is my strength the strength of stones? Or is my flesh of brass?
How hast thou helped him that is without power! How hast thou saved the arm that hath no strength!
Jehovah, make me to know mine end, And the measure of my days, what it is; Let me know how frail I am.
If I look for Sheol as my house; If I have spread my couch in the darkness;