My days pass by without hope, pass faster than a weaver's shuttle.

Jacob answered, "My life of wandering has lasted a hundred and thirty years. Those years have been few and difficult, unlike the long years of my ancestors in their wanderings."

You know, O LORD, that we pass through life like exiles and strangers, as our ancestors did. Our days are like a passing shadow, and we cannot escape death.

How short you have made my life! In your sight my lifetime seems nothing. Indeed every living being is no more than a puff of wind,

A thousand years to you are like one day; they are like yesterday, already gone, like a short hour in the night.

My life is like the evening shadows; I am like dry grass.

We are like a puff of wind; our days are like a passing shadow.