Psalms 90:10

Em outras traduções

1. NIV New International Version

   10 Our days may come to seventy years,

   or eighty, if our strength endures;

   yet the best of them are but trouble and sorrow,

   for they quickly pass, and we fly away.

2. ESV English Standard Version

   10 The years of our life are seventy,

   or even by reason of strength eighty;

   yet their span*90:10 Or pride is but toil and trouble;

   they are soon gone, and we fly away.

3. NLT New Living Translation

   10 Seventy years are given to us!

   Some even live to eighty.

   But even the best years are filled with pain and trouble;

   soon they disappear, and we fly away.

4. NKJV Nova Versão King James

   10 The days of our lives are seventy years;

   And if by reason of strength theyare eighty years,

   Yet their boast is only labor and sorrow;

   For it is soon cut off, and we fly away.

5. NASB New American Standard Bible 2020

   10 As for the days of our *90:10 Lit yearslife, *90:10 Lit in them arethey contain seventy years,

   Or if due to strength, eighty years,

   Yet their pride is only trouble and tragedy;

   For it quickly passes, and we disappear.

6. CSB Christian Standard Bible

   10 Our lives last  * 90:10 Lit The days of our years in them seventy years

   or, if we are strong, eighty years.

   Even the best of them are  * 90:10 LXX, Tg, Syr, Vg read Even their span is; Hb obscure  struggle and sorrow;

   indeed, they pass quickly and we fly away.  * 90:10 Jb 20:8; Ps 78:39

7. DRA Douay-Rheims American 1899

   10 There shall no evil come to thee: nor shall the scourge come near thy dwelling.

8. MSG The Message

   3-11 So don’t return us to mud, saying,

   "Back to where you came from!"

   Patience! You’ve got all the time in the world—whether

   a thousand years or a day, it’s all the same to you.

   Are we no more to you than a wispy dream,

   no more than a blade of grass

   That springs up gloriously with the rising sun

   and is cut down without a second thought?

   Your anger is far and away too much for us;

   we’re at the end of our rope.

   You keep track of all our sins; every misdeed

   since we were children is entered in your books.

   All we can remember is that frown on your face.

   Is that all we’re ever going to get?

   We live for seventy years or so

   (with luck we might make it to eighty),

   And what do we have to show for it? Trouble.

   Toil and trouble and a marker in the graveyard.

   Who can make sense of such rage,

   such anger against the very ones who fear you?