<p class="poetry">The days of our lives add up to seventy years,<n id="1" />p> <p class="poetry">or eighty, if one is especially strong.<n id="2" />p> <p class="poetry">But even one&#8217;s best years are marred by trouble and oppression.<n id="3" />p> <p class="poetry">Yes,<n id="4" /> they pass quickly<n id="5" /> and we fly away.<n id="6" />p>

<t /><p class="bodytext">Now a wind<n id="1" /> went out<n id="2" /> from the <sc>Lordsc> and brought quail<n id="3" /> from the sea, and let them fall<n id="4" /> near the camp, about a day&#8217;s journey on this side, and about a day&#8217;s journey on the other side, all around the camp, and about three feet<n id="5" /> high on the surface of the ground.