And made desolate her vine and her fig-tree, Of which she said, A gift they are to me, That my lovers have given to me, And I have made them for a forest, And consumed them hath a beast of the field.

An empty vine is Israel, Fruit he maketh like to himself, According to the abundance of his fruit, He hath multiplied for the altars, According to the goodness of his land, They have made goodly standing-pillars.

Return do the dwellers under his shadow, They revive as corn, and flourish as a vine, His memorial is as wine of Lebanon.