Gird you, and make your moan, O ye priests: mourn ye ministers of the alter: go your way in, and sleep in sackcloth, O ye officers of my God: for the meat and drink offering shall be taken away from the house of your God.

As mighty ones they run, As men of war they go up a wall, And each in his own ways they do go, And they embarrass not their paths.

And each his brother they press not, Each in his way they go on, If by the missile they fall, they are not cut off.

Let the priests, those who serve the Lord, weep from the vestibule all the way back to the altar. Let them say, "Have pity, O Lord, on your people; please do not turn over your inheritance to be mocked, to become a proverb among the nations. Why should it be said among the peoples, "Where is their God?"