But you, you will come to your fathers in peace. You will be buried at a good old age.
2 Chronicles 24:15 - Tree of Life Version When Jehoiada reached a ripe old age, he died. He was 130 years old when he died. Tuilleadh leaganachaKing James Version (Oxford) 1769 But Jehoiada waxed old, and was full of days when he died; an hundred and thirty years old was he when he died. Amplified Bible - Classic Edition But Jehoiada became old and full of [the handicaps of great] age, and he died. He was 130 years old at his death. American Standard Version (1901) But Jehoiada waxed old and was full of days, and he died; a hundred and thirty years old was he when he died. Common English Bible Jehoiada grew old, and when he reached the age of 130, he died. Catholic Public Domain Version But Jehoiada was old and full of days. And he died when he was one hundred thirty years old. Douay-Rheims version of The Bible - 1752 version But Joiada grew old, and was full of days, and died when he was a hundred and thirty years old. |
But you, you will come to your fathers in peace. You will be buried at a good old age.
So Abraham breathed his last and died at a good old age, old and satisfied. Then he was gathered to his peoples.
Jacob said to Pharaoh, “The days of the years of my sojourn are 130 years. Few and evil have been the days of the years of my life. Moreover, the days of the years of my life have not attained the days of the years of the lives of my fathers, in the days of their sojourn.”
When David was old and full of days, he made his son Solomon king over Israel.
When they had finished, they brought the remainder of the money before the king and Jehoiada and they made it into vessels for the House of Adonai—vessels for avodah and for burnt offering, pans and utensils of gold and silver. Then they offered burnt offerings in the House of Adonai continually all the days of Jehoiada.
So he was buried in the city of David among the kings, because he had done good things in Israel and toward God and His House.
You will come to the grave in vigor, like sheaves of grain in its season.
The span of our years is seventy —or with strength, eighty— yet at best they are trouble and sorrow. For they are soon gone, and we fly away.