I hate, I despise your feast days, and I will not smell in your solemn assemblies.

And I will turn your feast into mourning, and all your songs into weeping; and I will bring up sackcloth on all loins, and baldness on every head. And I will make it like the mourning of an only son, and the end of it like a bitter day.

Therefore now they remove at the head of the captives, And turned aside is the mourning-feast of stretched-out ones.