If his children are multiplied, it is for the sword; And his offspring shall not be satisfied with bread. Those who survive him shall be buried in death, And their widows shall not weep, Though he heaps up silver like dust, And piles up clothing like clay— He may pile it up, but the just will wear it, And the innocent will divide the silver. He builds his house like a moth, Like a booth which a watchman makes. The rich man will lie down, But not be gathered up; He opens his eyes, And he is no more.
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