"Woe to the one who says to a tree, "Wake up!' or "Arise!' to a speechless stone. Idols like this can't teach, can they? Look, even though it is overlaid with gold and silver, there's no breath in it at all."

Though the fig-tree doth not flourish, And there is no produce among vines, Failed hath the work of the olive, And fields have not yielded food, Cut off from the fold hath been the flock, And there is no herd in the stalls.