Now shall be withdrawn rejoicing and exultation out of the garden-land, And, in the vineyards, shall be neither singing nor shouting, - Wine in the winepress, the treader, shall not tread, The vintage-shout, have I made to cease.

A winepress, have I trodden, alone, And of the peoples, there was no man with me. So I trod them down in mine anger, And trampled upon then, in mine indignation, - And their life-blood besprinkled my garments, And all mine apparel, I defiled;