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.

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!

What is left of the palmer-worm, eaten hath the locust, And what is left of the locust, Eaten hath the cankerworm, And what is left of the cankerworm, Eaten hath the caterpillar.