Food disappears right before our eyes. Happiness and rejoicing disappear from our God’s temple.
Brag about his holy name. Let the hearts of those who seek the Lord rejoice.
Then let me go to the altar of God, to God my ⌞highest⌟ joy, and I will give thanks to you on the lyre, O God, my God.
Let me hear ⌞sounds of⌟ joy and gladness. Let the bones that you have broken dance.
When that day comes the relative will cry out, “I’m not a doctor! I don’t have any food or a coat in my home. Don’t make me a leader of our family.”
Put on your sackcloth and mourn, you priests. Cry loudly, you servants of the altar. Spend the night in sackcloth, you servants of my God. Grain offerings and wine offerings are withheld from your God’s temple.