The grass dries up, the flowers wither, when the wind sent by the Lord blows on them. Surely humanity is like grass.

The grass dries up, the flowers wither, but the decree of our God is forever reliable.”

They will sprout up like a tree in the grass, like poplars beside channels of water.

Her fortresses will be overgrown with thorns; thickets and weeds will grow in her fortified cities. Jackals will settle there; ostriches will live there.

The dry soil will become a pool of water, the parched ground springs of water. Where jackals once lived and sprawled out, grass, reeds, and papyrus will grow.

For the waters of Nimrim are gone; the grass is dried up, the vegetation has disappeared, and there are no plants.

Their residents are powerless; they are terrified and ashamed. They are as short-lived as plants in the field or green vegetation. They are as short-lived as grass on the rooftops when it is scorched by the east wind.

A voice says, “Cry out!” Another asks, “What should I cry out?” The first voice responds: “All people are like grass, and all their promises are like the flowers in the field.

“I, I am the one who consoles you. Why are you afraid of mortal men, of mere human beings who are as short-lived as grass?