At eventide, lo! terror, Before morning, he is not! This, is the portion of them who plunder us, And the lot of them who make of us a prey.

"Take the harp, go through the city, forgotten prostitute! Play it well, play lots of songs, so you'll be noticed!"

Doth he not when he hath levelled the face thereof, Cast abroad the fennel? And, the cummin, doth he not scatter? And plant wheat in rows, And barley in a lot, And spelt in the border thereof?

Yea he himself, hath cast for them a lot, And his own hand, hath given to them a portion by line, - Unto times age-abiding, shall they possess it, To generation after generation, shall they dwell therein.

Why, O Jacob, do you say, and declare, O Israel,
“My way is hidden from the Lord,
And the justice due me escapes the notice of my God”?

“Among the smooth stones of the ravine
Is your portion, they are your lot;
Even to them you have poured out a drink offering,
You have made a grain offering.
Shall I relent concerning these things?