He hath made my vine a desolation, and barked my fig-tree; he hath made it clean bare, and cast it away: its branches are made white.

Be ashamed, ye husbandmen, Howl, vine-dressers, for wheat and for barley, For perished hath the harvest of the field.

The vine is dried up, and the fig-tree languisheth; the pomegranate-tree, the palm also and the apple-tree; all the trees of the field are withered, yea, joy is withered away from the children of men.

Be not afraid, ye beasts of the field: for the pastures of the wilderness do spring; for the tree beareth its fruit; the fig-tree and the vine yield full increase.

Get your plough-blades hammered into swords, and your vine-knives into spears: let the feeble say, I am strong.