The ways of Zion are mourning, Without any coming at the appointed time, All her gates are desolate, her priests sigh, Her virgins are afflicted -- and she hath bitterness.

Is it nothing to you, all ye passing by the way? Look attentively, and see, If there is any pain like my pain, That He is rolling to me? Whom Jehovah hath afflicted In the day of the fierceness of His anger.

Clapped hands at thee have all passing by the way, They have hissed -- and they shake the head At the daughter of Jerusalem: 'Is this the city of which they said: The perfection of beauty, a joy to all the land?'

He hath hedged my ways with hewn work, My paths He hath made crooked.

My ways He is turning aside, and He pulleth me in pieces, He hath made me a desolation.

We search our ways, and investigate, And turn back unto Jehovah.