How tarnished the gold has become! The fine gold has lost its luster.
The sacred Stones lie strewn at every street corner!
The ones who worth their weight in gold- but now reckoned no more than earthen jars from a Potter’s hand!
Even jackals breastfeed their young, but they have become heartless, like ostriches in the desert.
In thirst the infant’s tongue cleaves to the top of its mouth.
The children are begging for food, but there is no one to give to them.
Brighter than snow were they, even whiter than milk; their bodies rosier than coral, their appearance as radiant as sapphires.
Now they are blacker than soot, unrecognised in the streets.
Their skin has shrivelled on their bones; it has become as dry as wood.
They wandered like blind men, groping through the streets, so defiled with blood that no one would touch their garments.
“Go away!” People cried at them.
“Do not touch us! You’re unclean!”
They became fugitives wandering about, and even the nations would drive them out.
They have been straining their eyes, looking for help in vain.
They watched and waited for a nation that failed to save them.
Men dogged their steps so that they could not walk in their streets.
Their end drew near, their days were numbered; they knew their end had come.
Swifter were their pursuers than the eagle in the sky.
Over the hills they chased them, they waylaid them in the wilderness.