From on high has he sent fire into my bones, and it prevails against them; He has spread a net for my feet, he has turned me back: He has made me desolate and faint all the day.
The ways of Tziyon do mourn, because none come to the solemn assembly; all her gates are desolate, her Kohanim do sigh: her virgins are afflicted, and she herself is in bitterness.