Job 17:1

Lighthouse Bible 2006

My breath is corrupt, my days are extinct, the graves are ready for me.

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When a few years have come, then I shall go the way from which I shall not return.

My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart.

My breath is strange to my wife, though I appealed to her for the sake of the children of my own body.

After this lived Job a hundred and forty years, and saw his sons, and his sons’ sons, even four generations.

What is my strength, that I should hope? and what is my end, that I should prolong my life?

My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle, and are spent without hope.

For I will not contend for ever, neither will I always be angry: for the spirit would fail before me, and the souls which I have made.