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Why, death, do you tarry so?
Why does your chariot come so slow?
Old age has prepared for me
Every illness and complaint.
What good are my hundred years?
If such pain I undergo—
Why, death…
For it is not against me that these men have sinned, for what am I and what is my life? My days have passed like a transient shadow, and fly away as does a dream—like a dream upon…
So appreciate your vigor in the days of your youth, before those days of sorrow come and those years arrive of which you will say, “I have no pleasure in them”; before sun and light and moon and…
Behold, I am aged and my eyes are dim and my hands heavy and shaky, and at a time when my strength, enabling me to remain standing upon my watch, is ebbing away—with the yoke of the…