for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more.
The grass withers, the flower fades when the breath of the Lord blows on it; surely the people are grass.
The eye that saw him will see him no more, nor will his place any more behold him.
But a man dies and is laid low; man breathes his last, and where is he?
Enoch walked with God, and he was not, for God took him.
A voice says, “Cry!” And I said, “What shall I cry?” All flesh is grass, and all its beauty is like the flower of the field.