We have conceived, we have been pained. We have brought forth as it were wind, Salvation we do not work in the earth, Nor do the inhabitants of the world fall.

For in Zoan were his princes, And his messengers reach Hanes.

And their inhabitants are feeble-handed, They were broken down, and are dried up. They have been the herb of the field, And the greenness of the tender grass, Grass of the roofs, And blasted corn, before it hath risen up.

And this is a people seized and spoiled, Snared in holes -- all of them, And in houses of restraint they were hidden, They have been for a prey, And there is no deliverer, A spoil, and none is saying, 'Restore.'