She weeps bitterly in the night, and her tears are on her cheeks: among all her lovers she has none to comfort her: all her friends have dealt treacherously with her, they have become her enemies.

The roads to Zion do mourn, because none come to the solemn feasts: all her gates are desolate: her priests sigh, her virgins are afflicted, and she is in bitterness.

The yoke of my transgressions is bound by his hand: they are woven together, and come up upon my neck: he has made my strength to fall, the Lord has delivered me into their hands, from whom I am not able to rise up.

For these things I weep; my eye, my eye runs down with water, because the comforter that should relieve my soul is far from me: my children are desolate, because the enemy prevailed.

They have heard that I sigh: there is none to comfort me: all my enemies have heard of my trouble; they are glad that you have done it: you will bring the day that you have announced, and they shall be like unto me.

Let all their wickedness come before you; and do unto them, as you have done unto me for all my transgressions: for my sighs are many, and my heart is faint.

Her gates are sunk into the ground; he has destroyed and broken her bars: her king and her princes are among the nations: the law is no more; her prophets also find no vision from the LORD.

He has set me in dark places, like they that are long dead.

It is of the LORD'S mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not.

They are new every morning: great is your faithfulness.

How has the gold become dim! how has the most fine gold changed! the stones of the sanctuary are poured out at the head of every street.

The precious sons of Zion, comparable to fine gold, how are they esteemed as earthen pitchers, the work of the hands of the potter!

They that did eat delicacies are desolate in the streets: they that were brought up in scarlet embrace ash heaps.

Their appearance is now blacker than coal; they are not known in the streets: their skin cleaves to their bones; it is withered, it has become like a dry stick.

They that are slain with the sword are better than they that are slain with hunger: for these pine away, stricken through for lack of the fruits of the field.

They hunt our steps, so that we cannot go in our streets: our end is near, our days are fulfilled; for our end has come.

Our persecutors are swifter than the eagles of the heaven: they pursued us upon the mountains, they laid wait for us in the wilderness.

We are orphans and fatherless, our mothers are as widows.

Our necks are under persecution: we labor, and have no rest.

Our fathers have sinned, and are not; and we have borne their iniquities.

For this our heart is faint; for these things our eyes are dim.

But you have utterly rejected us; you are very angry against us.