Who made the world like a desert And its cities, brake down? Its prisoners, he loosed not. Bach one to his home.

And left is the Daughter of Zion, Like a hut in a vineyard, - Like a lodge in a gourd-plot Like a city besieged.

Is not, Calno, like Carchemish? Is not, Hamath, like Arpad? Is not, Samaria, like Damascus?

Lift up - to the heavens - your eyes, And look around to the earth beneath Though, the heavens, like smoke, should have vanished And, the earth, like a garment, should fall to pieces, And, her inhabitants, in like manner, should die, Yet, my salvation, unto times age-abiding, shall continue, And, my righteousness, shall not be broken down.