Your new moons and your regular feasts are a grief to my soul: they are a weight in my spirit; I am crushed under them.

And corded instruments and wind-instruments and wine are in their feasts: but they give no thought to the work of the Lord, and they are not interested in what his hands are doing.

Let your eyes be resting on Zion, the town of our holy feasts: you will see Jerusalem, a quiet resting-place, a tent which will not be moved, whose tent-pins will never be pulled up, and whose cords will never be broken.

Ho! Ariel, Ariel, the town against which David made war; put year to year, let the feasts come round:

Let me make a song about my loved one, a song of love for his vine-garden. My loved one had a vine-garden on a fertile hill: