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 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 North and the South,
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Tabor and Hermon shall rejoice in thy name.
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The Days Of Our Age
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| Chris De Burgh |
