The days of our age are threescore years and ten
And though men be so strong that they come
To fourscore years, yet is their strength then
But labor and sorrow, so soon passeth it away
And we are gone

And as for me, my feet are almost gone
My tradings are well nigh slipped
But let not the waterflood drown me
Neither let the deep swallow me up (swallow me up)
So going through the Vale of Misery
I shall use it for a well
'Til the pools are filled with water
For thou hast made the North and the South
Tabor and Hermon shall rejoice in thy name