Lo, the day, lo, it hath come, Gone forth hath the morning, Blossomed hath the rod, flourished the pride.

The violence hath risen to a rod of wickedness, There is none of them, nor of their multitude, Nor of their noise, nor is there wailing for them.

And it hath strong rods for sceptres of rulers, And high is its stature above thick branches, And it appeareth in its height In the multitude of its thin shoots.

And it is plucked up in fury, To the earth it hath been cast, And the east wind hath dried up its fruit, Broken and withered hath been the rod of its strength, Fire hath consumed it.

And go forth doth fire from a rod of its boughs, Its fruit it hath devoured, And it hath no rod of strength -- a sceptre to rule, Lamentation it is -- and it is for a lamentation!'

And I have caused you to pass under the rod, And brought you into the bond of the covenant,