What is my strength, that I should wait? What is my end, that I should be patient?
Aren't my days few? Cease then. Leave me alone, that I may find a little comfort,
Will you harass a driven leaf? Will you pursue the dry stubble?
though I am decaying like a rotten thing, like a garment that is moth-eaten.
*My spirit is consumed. My days are extinct, And the grave is ready for me.
If I look for She'ol as my house, if I have spread my couch in the darkness,
As for me, is my complaint to man? Why shouldn't I be impatient?
*How have you helped him who is without power! How have you saved the arm that has no strength!
Is my strength the strength of stones? Or is my flesh of brass?
He weakened my strength along the course. He shortened my days.
*LORD, show me my end, what is the measure of my days. Let me know how frail I am.
Behold, you have made my days handbreadths. My lifetime is as nothing before you. Surely every man stands as a breath.* Selah.