The days of our lives are seventy years; Or if due to strength, eighty years, Yet the best of them is but toil and exertion; For it is soon cut off, and we fly away.
“I am now eighty years old. Do I discern between the good and evil? Does your servant taste what I eat or what I drink? Do I still hear the voice of singing men and singing women? Why then should your servant be a further burden to my master the sovereign?
They are lifted up for a little while, then they are gone, then they shall be brought low. Like all else they are gathered up, and they are cut off like the heads of grain.
“My dwelling is plucked up, taken from me like a shepherd’s tent. I have cut off my life like a weaver; He cuts me off from the loom. From day to night You make an end of me.
“Yet I am still as strong today as I was on the day that Mosheh sent me. As my strength was then, so my strength is now, for battle, and for going out and for coming in.