I meditate, muse, remember, I remember all the days of old. My spirit faileth, hear me. I stretch forth my hands to thee. All diseases healed, like the eagle youth renewed crowned with mercy sweet. God remembers we are dust.
All flesh is as grass.
For lo the grass withereth, the flower decays, the wind passes, we are gone, and the world knows us no more. The days of our years are three score and ten - by strength they will be four score. Teach us to number our days That our hearts match our wisdom. Weary and groaning, eyes weak, bones vexed,waxing old, swimming in my tears. In the grave there is no thanks.