My eyes fail with tears, my heart is troubled, my liver is poured upon the earth, because of the destruction of the daughter of my people, because the young sons and the sucklings faint in the streets of the city.

Arise, cry out in the night, at the beginning of the watches. Pour out thy heart like water before the face of LORD. Lift up thy hands toward him for the life of thy young sons, who faint for hunger at the head of every street.

See, O LORD, and behold to whom thou have done thus! Shall the women eat their fruit, the sons who are dandled in the hands? Shall the priest and the prophet be slain in the sanctuary of LORD?

I have become a derision to all my people, and their song all the day.

For he does not afflict willingly, nor grieve the sons of men.

Behold thou their sitting down, and their rising up. I am their song.

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

The tongue of the sucking child clings to the roof of his mouth for thirst. The young sons ask bread, and no man breaks it to them.

The young men bore the mill, and the sons stumbled under the wood.