All our days pass away under your wrath; we finish our years with a moan.
May they be like chaff before the wind, with the angel of the Lord driving them away;
“Hear my prayer, Lord, listen to my cry for help; do not be deaf to my weeping. I dwell with you as a foreigner, a stranger, as all my ancestors were.
You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Everyone is but a breath, even those who seem secure.
So he ended their days in futility and their years in terror.
A thousand years in your sight are like a day that has just gone by, or like a watch in the night.