What `is' my power that I should hope? And what mine end That I should prolong my life?
Are not my days few? Cease then, and put from me, And I brighten up a little,
A leaf driven away dost Thou terrify? And the dry stubble dost Thou pursue?
And he, as a rotten thing, weareth away, As a garment hath a moth consumed him.
My spirit hath been destroyed, My days extinguished -- graves `are' for me.
If I wait -- Sheol `is' my house, In darkness I have spread out my couch.
I -- to man `is' my complaint? and if `so', wherefore May not my temper become short?
What -- thou hast helped the powerless, Saved an arm not strong!
Is my strength the strength of stones? Is my flesh brazen?
He hath humbled in the way my power, He hath shortened my days.
`Cause me to know, O Jehovah, mine end, And the measure of my days -- what it `is',' I know how frail I `am'.
Lo, handbreadths Thou hast made my days, And mine age `is' as nothing before Thee, Only, all vanity `is' every man set up. Selah.