To you we are all like our ancestors— foreigners without permanent homes. Our days are as fleeting as shadows on the ground. There’s no hope ⌞for them⌟.
Moses held his staff over the land of Egypt, and the Lord made a wind from the east blow over the land all that day and all that night. By morning the east wind had brought the locusts.
Then the Lord changed the wind to a very strong west wind. It picked up the locusts and blew them into the Red Sea. Not one locust was left anywhere in Egypt.
Who knows what may be good for mortals while they are alive, during the brief, pointless days they live? Mortals pass by like a shadow. Who will tell them about their future under the sun?