What is my strength, that I should wait? And what is my end, that I should be patient?
Are not the days of my life few? Let me alone, that I may find a little comfort
Will you frighten a windblown leaf and pursue dry chaff?
One wastes away like a rotten thing, like a garment that is moth-eaten.
“My spirit is broken; my days are extinct; the grave is ready for me.
If I look for Sheol as my house, if I spread my couch in darkness,
As for me, is my complaint addressed to mortals? Why should I not be impatient?
“How you have helped one who has no power! How you have assisted the arm that has no strength!
Is my strength the strength of stones, or is my flesh bronze?
He has broken my strength in midcourse; he has shortened my days.
“Lord, let me know my end and what is the measure of my days; let me know how fleeting my life is.
You have made my days a few handbreadths, and my lifetime is as nothing in your sight. Surely everyone stands as a mere breath. Selah