Its roots may grow old in the ground and its stump die in the soil,
yet at the scent of water it will bud and put forth shoots like a plant.
But a man dies and is laid low; he breathes his last and is no more.
As the water of a lake dries up or a riverbed becomes parched and dry,
so he lies down and does not rise; till the heavens are no more, people will not awake or be roused from their sleep.
“If only you would hide me in the grave and conceal me till your anger has passed! If only you would set me a time and then remember me!
If someone dies, will they live again? All the days of my hard service I will wait for my renewal to come.
You will call and I will answer you; you will long for the creature your hands have made.
Surely then you will count my steps but not keep track of my sin.
My offenses will be sealed up in a bag; you will cover over my sin.
“But as a mountain erodes and crumbles and as a rock is moved from its place,