If thieves came to you, if marauders by night – how ravaged you would be! – wouldn’t they steal only what they wanted? If grape harvesters came to you, wouldn’t they leave a few grapes?
When you gather the grapes of your vineyard, do not glean what is left. What remains will be for the resident foreigner, the fatherless, and the widow.
Only gleanings will be left in Israel, as if an olive tree had been beaten – two or three olives at the very top of the tree, four or five on its fruitful branches. This is the declaration of the Lord, the God of Israel.
This is the jubilant city that lives in security, that says to herself: I exist, and there is no one else. What a desolation she has become, a place for wild animals to lie down! Everyone who passes by her scoffs and shakes his fist.
How sad for me! For I am like one who – when the summer fruit has been gathered after the gleaning of the grape harvest – finds no grape cluster to eat, no early fig, which I crave.
How she sits alone, the city once crowded with people! She who was great among the nations has become like a widow. The princess among the provinces has been put to forced labour.
They will stand far off in fear of her torment, saying, Woe, woe, the great city, Babylon, the mighty city! For in a single hour your judgement has come.
This is what the Lord of Armies says: Glean the remnant of Israel as thoroughly as a vine. Pass your hand once more like a grape gatherer over the branches.