I am now eighty years old. Can I know between good and bad? Or can your servant taste what I eat or what I drink? Or can I hear anymore the voice of singing men and women? Why then should your servant be an added burden to my lord the king?
Please let your servant return, that I may die in my own city near the grave of my father and my mother. However, here is your servant Chimham, let him pass over with my lord the king, and do for him what is good in your sight.”
As for the days of our life, they contain seventy years, Or if due to might, eighty years, Yet their pride is but labor and wickedness; For soon it is gone and we fly away.
Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days happen and the years draw near in which you will say, “I have no delight in them”;
Give, and it will be given to you. They will pour into your lap a good measure—pressed down, shaken together, running over. For by your standard of measure it will be measured to you in return.”