Is not the meate cut of before our eyes, yea mirth and ioy from the house of our God
And I wyll go vnto the aulter of the Lorde, euen vnto the Lorde of my ioy & gladnesse: and vpon the harpe I will acknowledge thee O Lorde my Lord
Girde your selues and lament O ye priestes, howle ye out ye ministers of the aulter, come and lye all night in sackcloth ye seruauntes of my God: for the meate and drynke offerynges are taken away from the house of your God
Then shall he sweare and say, I can not helpe you: there is neither meate nor clothyng in my house, make me no ruler of the people
Glary ye in his holy name: let the heart of them reioyce that do seeke God
Make thou me to heare some ioy and gladnesse: let the bones reioyce which thou hast broken