Jehovah is slow to anger, and great in power, And Jehovah doth not entirely acquit, In a hurricane and in a tempest is His way, And a cloud is the dust of His feet.

She is empty, yea, emptiness and waste, And the heart hath melted, And the knees have smitten together, And great pain is in all loins, And the faces of all of them have gathered paleness.

Even she doth become an exile, She hath gone into captivity, Even her sucklings are dashed to pieces At the top of all out-places, And for her honoured ones they cast a lot, And all her great ones have been bound in fetters.

Thy crowned ones are as a locust, And thy princes as great grasshoppers, That encamp in hedges in a day of cold, The sun hath risen, and it doth flee away, And not known is its place where they are.