It hath made my vine become a desolation, And my fig-tree become a chip, It hath made it thoroughly bare, and hath cast down, Made white have been its branches.

I will gather all nations, bringing them down to the Valley of Jehoshaphat. I will set out my case against them there, on behalf of my people, my heritage Israel, whom they scattered among the nations, apportioning my land among themselves.

And for My people they do cast a lot, And they give the young man for an harlot, And the young woman have sold for wine, That they may drink.