Fled from cherished Zion are all that were her splendor. Her princes have become like deer that cannot find their feeding grounds. They flee with strength exhausted from their pursuers.

The Lord rejected his altar, disavowing his sanctuary. He gave up her palace walls to the control of the enemy. They shouted in the LORD's Temple, as though they were attending a day of celebration.

You have invited those who terrorize me to come around, as if today were a festival. No one has escaped or survived the time of the LORD's anger. My enemy has finished off those whom I cuddled and raised.

Though the precious people of Zion were like fine gold, how they are valued like clay vessels, the handiwork of a potter!

Those who enjoyed delicacies lie desolate in the streets. Those who were reared wearing purple scavenge in piles of trash.

Her princes were purer than snow, whiter than milk. Their bodies were more ruddy than rubies, their beards like the color of precious stones.

With their own hands, compassionate women boil their own children they become their food when my beloved people were destroyed.

Our steps were closely stalked, so we couldn't travel on our own streets. Our end is near, our days are over; indeed, our end has come.

Our pursuers were swifter than soaring eagles; they pursued us over the mountains, lying in wait for us in the wilderness.