In the year of King Uzziah's death, I saw the sovereign master seated on a high, elevated throne. The hem of his robe filled the temple.

The sound of their voices shook the door frames, and the temple was filled with smoke.

The noisy city is full of raucous sounds; the town is filled with revelry. Your slain were not cut down by the sword; they did not die in battle.

Mourn over the land of my people, which is overgrown with thorns and briers, and over all the once-happy houses in the city filled with revelry.

For you will nurse from her satisfying breasts and be nourished; you will feed with joy from her milk-filled breasts.