But the light wind, lashed with the stroke of her pinions,
And rent asunder with the violent rush, is passed through by the motion of her wings,
And afterwards no sign of her coming is found therein:
So we also, as soon as we were born, ceased to be;
And of virtue we had no sign to show,
But in our wickedness we were utterly consumed.
Because the hope of the ungodly man is as chaff carried by the wind,
And passeth by as the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but a day.
‘But the righteous live for ever,
And in the Lord is their reward,