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?'

Arise, cry aloud in the night, At the beginning of the watches. Pour out as water thy heart, Over against the face of the Lord, Lift up unto Him thy hands, for the soul of thine infants, Who are feeble with hunger at the head of all out-places.

My voice Thou hast heard, Hide not Thine ear at my breathing -- at my cry.