On tops of the mountains they do sacrifice, And on the hills they make perfume, Under oak, and poplar, and terebinth, For good is its shade.

With their wickedness they make glad a king, And with their lies -- princes.

And forget doth Israel his Maker, and buildeth temples, And Judah hath multiplied cities of defence, And I have sent a fire into his cities, And it hath consumed their palaces!

They have called to them rightly, They have gone from before them, To lords they do sacrifice, And to graven images they make perfume.

How do I give thee up, O Ephraim? Do I deliver thee up, O Israel? How do I make thee as Admah? Do I set thee as Zeboim? Turned in Me is My heart, kindled together have been My repentings.

Ephraim is enjoying wind, And is pursuing an east wind, All the day lying and spoiling he multiplieth, And a covenant with Asshur they make, And oil to Egypt is carried.

And now do they add to sin, And make to them a molten image of their silver, By their own understanding -- idols, A work of artisans -- all of it, Of them they say, who are sacrificers among men, 'The calves let them kiss.'