For, All flesh is as grass, And all the glory thereof as the flower of grass. The grass withereth, and the flower falleth:

Man, that is born of a woman, Is of few days, and full of trouble.

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

And David sware moreover, and said, Thy father knoweth well that I have found favor in thine eyes; and he saith, Let not Jonathan know this, lest he be grieved: but truly as Jehovah liveth, and as thy soul liveth, there is but a step between me and death.

My heart throbbeth, my strength faileth me: As for the light of mine eyes, it also is gone from me.

But man being in honor abideth not: He is like the beasts that perish.

And he remembered that they were but flesh, A wind that passeth away, and cometh not again.

For he knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.

As when one ploweth and cleaveth the earth, Our bones are scattered at the mouth of Sheol.

Cease ye from man, whose breath is in his nostrils; for wherein is he to be accounted of?

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

For we are all become as one that is unclean, and all our righteousnesses are as a polluted garment: and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.