⁶ My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, and are spent without hope.

²⁵ Now my days are swifter than a post: they flee away, they see no good.

¹⁵ And where is now my hope? as for my hope, who shall see it?

²⁴ For all flesh is as grass, and all the glory of man as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away:

⁶ The voice said, Cry. And he said, What shall I cry? All flesh is grass, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field:

⁷ The grass withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it: surely the people is grass.

¹² Mine age is departed, and is removed from me as a shepherd's tent: I have cut off like a weaver my life: he will cut me off with pining sickness: from day even to night wilt thou make an end of me.

¹³ I reckoned till morning, that, as a lion, so will he break all my bones: from day even to night wilt thou make an end of me.

³² The wicked is driven away in his wickedness: but the righteous hath hope in his death.

⁴ Man is like to vanity: his days are as a shadow that passeth away.

¹⁵ As for man, his days are as grass: as a flower of the field, so he flourisheth.

¹⁶ For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.

¹¹ My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart.