He hath turned my vine to a waste, and my fig-tree to splinters, - he hath, barked it clean, and cast it down, bleached are its branches.

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

The vine hath been dried up, And the fig-tree doth languish, Pomegranate, also palm, and apple-tree, All trees of the field have withered, For dried up hath been joy from the sons of men.

Do not fear, O cattle of the field! For sprung forth have pastures of a wilderness, For the tree hath borne its fruit, Fig-tree and vine have given their strength!