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The days of our age are threescore years and ten, |
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And though men be so strong that they come, |
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To fourscore years, yet is their strength then, |
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But labour and sorrow, so soon passeth it away, |
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And we are gone; |
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And as for me, my feet are almost gone, |
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My treadings are well nigh slipped, |
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But let not the waterflood drown me, |
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Neither let the deep swallow me up; |
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So going through the |
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Vale of Misery, |
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I shall use it for a well, |
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Till the pools are filled with water; |
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For thou hast made the |
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North and the |
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South,Tabor and |
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Hermon shall rejoice in thy name. |
