You, indeed, have made my days as handbreadths, and my lifetime as nothing before You. Truly each man at his best exists as but a breath. Selah Surely every man goes about like a phantom; surely he bustles in vain; he heaps up riches not knowing who will haul them away.
I said to myself, “Come now, I will test you with pleasure; enjoy what is good!” But it proved to be futile. I said of laughter, “It is folly,” and of pleasure, “What does it accomplish?” I sought to cheer my body with wine and to embrace folly—my mind still guiding me with wisdom—until I could see what was worthwhile for men to do under heaven during the few days of their lives. I expanded my pursuits. I built houses and planted vineyards for myself. I made gardens and parks for myself, where I planted all kinds of fruit trees. I built reservoirs to water my groves of flourishing trees. I acquired menservants and maidservants, and servants were born in my house. I also owned more herds and flocks than anyone in Jerusalem before me, and I accumulated for myself silver and gold and the treasure of kings and provinces. I gathered to myself male and female singers, and the delights of the sons of men—many concubines. So I became great and surpassed all in Jerusalem who had preceded me; and my wisdom remained with me. Anything my eyes desired, I did not deny myself. I refused my heart no pleasure. For my heart took delight in all my work, and this was the reward for all my labor. Yet when I considered all the works that my hands had accomplished and what I had toiled to achieve, I found everything to be futile, a pursuit of the wind; there was nothing to be gained under the sun. ... So my heart began to despair over all the labor that I had done under the sun. When there is a man who has labored with wisdom, knowledge, and skill, and he must give his portion to a man who has not worked for it, this too is futile and a great evil. For what does a man get for all the toil and striving with which he labors under the sun? Indeed, all his days are filled with grief, and his task is sorrowful; even at night, his mind does not rest. This too is futile.
There is a man all alone, without even a son or brother. And though there is no end to his labor, his eyes are still not content with his wealth: “For whom do I toil and bereave my soul of enjoyment?” This too is futile—a miserable task.
She rises while it is still night to provide food for her household and portions for her maidservants. She appraises a field and buys it; from her earnings she plants a vineyard. She girds herself with strength and shows that her arms are strong. She sees that her gain is good, and her lamp is not extinguished at night.
And to Adam He said: “Because you have listened to the voice of your wife and have eaten from the tree of which I commanded you not to eat, cursed is the ground because of you; through toil you will eat of it all the days of your life. Both thorns and thistles it will yield for you, and you will eat the plants of the field. By the sweat of your brow you will eat your bread, until you return to the ground—because out of it were you taken. For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.”
So Peter was kept in prison, but the church was fervently praying to God for him. On the night before Herod was to bring him to trial, Peter was sleeping between two soldiers, bound with two chains, with sentries standing guard at the entrance to the prison.