In their streets they gird themselves with sackcloth; on their housetops, and in their broad places, every one waileth, weeping abundantly.

But, there shall Yahweh be our majestic one, A places of rivers - streams broad on both hands, Wherein shall go no galley with oars, Neither shall majestic ship traverse it;

We grope, as blind men for a wall, Yea, as men without eyes, do we grope, - We have stumbled at broad noon as though it were twilight, In desolate places like the dead!