“All people are like grass,
    and all their glory is like the flowers of the field;
the grass withers and the flowers fall,

⁵ You have made my days^(A) a mere handbreadth;
    the span of my years is as nothing before you.
Everyone is but a breath,^(B)
    even those who seem secure.^[a]

³ For my days vanish like smoke;^(A)
    my bones^(B) burn like glowing embers.