Show me, O Lord, my life's end
and the number of my days;
let me know how fleeting is my
life.
You have made my days a mere handbreadth;
the span of my years is as nothing before you.
Each man's life is but a breath.
Man is a mere phantom as he goes to
and fro:
He bustles about, but only in vein;
he heaps up wealth, not knowing
who will get it.
But now, Lord, what do I look for?
My hope is in you.
