I am this day fourscore years old: can I discern between good and bad? can thy servant taste what I eat or what I drink? can I hear any more the voice of singing men and singing women? wherefore then should thy servant be yet a burden unto my lord the king?
Yea, even when I am old and grayheaded, O God, forsake me not; Until I have declared thy strength unto the next generation, Thy might to every one that is to come.
The days of our years are threescore years and ten, Or even by reason of strength fourscore years; Yet is their pride but labour and sorrow; For it is soon gone, and we fly away.
For the which cause I suffer also these things: yet I am not ashamed; for I know him whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that he is able to guard that which I have committed unto him against that day.