How doth the Lord cloud in His anger the daughter of Zion, He hath cast from heaven to earth the beauty of Israel, And hath not remembered His footstool in the day of His anger.

Thou hast covered Thyself with a cloud, So that prayer doth not pass through.

How is the gold become dim, Changed the best -- the pure gold? Poured out are stones of the sanctuary At the head of all out-places.

The precious sons of Zion, Who are comparable with fine gold, How have they been reckoned earthen bottles, Work of the hands of a potter.