Come down, and sit on the dust, O virgin daughter of
Babylon, Sit on the earth, there is no throne, O daughter of the Chaldeans, For
no more do they cry to thee, 'O tender and delicate one.'
Take millstones, and grind flour, Remove thy veil, draw up
the skirt, Uncover the leg, pass over the floods.
Revealed is thy nakedness, yea, seen is thy reproach,
Vengeance I take, and I meet not a man.
Our redeemer is Jehovah of Hosts, His name is
the Holy One of Israel.
Sit silent, and go into darkness, O daughter of the
Chaldeans, For no more do they cry to thee, 'Mistress of kingdoms.'
I have been wroth against My people, I have polluted Mine
inheritance And I give them into thy hand, Thou hast not appointed for them
mercies, On the aged thou hast made thy yoke very heavy,
And thou sayest, 'To the age I am mistress,' While thou hast
not laid these things to thy heart, Thou hast not remembered the latter end of
And now, hear this, O luxurious one, Who is sitting
confidently -- Who is saying in her heart, 'I am, and none else, I sit
not a widow, nor know bereavement.'
And come in to thee do these two things, In a moment, in one
day, childlessness and widowhood, According to their perfection they have come
upon thee, In the multitude of thy sorceries, In the exceeding might of thy
And thou art confident in thy wickedness, Thou hast said,
'There is none seeing me,' Thy wisdom and thy knowledge, It is turning thee
back, And thou sayest in thy heart, 'I am, and none else.'
And come in on thee hath evil, Thou knowest not its rising,
And fall on thee doth mischief, Thou art not able to pacify it, And come on
thee suddenly doth desolation, Thou knowest not.
Stand, I pray thee, in thy charms, And in the multitude of
thy sorceries, In which thou hast laboured from thy youth, It may be thou art
able to profit, It may be thou dost terrify!
Thou hast been wearied in the multitude of thy counsels,
Stand up, I pray thee, and save thee, Let the charmers of the heavens, Those
looking on the stars, Those teaching concerning the months, From those things
that come on thee!
Lo, they have been as stubble! Fire hath burned them, They
deliver not themselves from the power of the flame, There is not a coal to warm
them, a light to sit before it.
So have they been to thee with whom thou hast laboured, Thy
merchants from thy youth, Each to his passage they have wandered, Thy saviour