Are my days not few? Withdraw from me, that I may have a little comfort,
“Man, who is born of woman, is short of days and full of trouble.
Turn Your gaze away from me, that I may again be cheered before I depart and am no more.”
For we were born yesterday and know nothing; our days on earth are but a shadow.
You, indeed, have made my days as handbreadths, and my lifetime as nothing before You. Truly each man at his best exists
My days are swifter than a weaver’s shuttle; they come to an end without hope.
As for man, his days are like grass—he blooms like a flower of the field;
Withdraw Your hand from me, and do not let Your terror frighten me.
My days are swifter than a runner; they flee without seeing good.
I loathe my life! I would not live forever. Leave me alone, for my days are but a breath.