These two things are come unto thee; who shall be sorry for thee? desolation, and destruction, and the famine, and the sword: by whom shall I comfort thee?
From above hath he sent fire into my bones, And it prevaileth against them: He hath spread a net for my feet, He hath turned me back: He hath made me desolate And faint all the day.
The ways of Zion do mourn, Because none come to the solemn feasts: All her gates are desolate: Her priests sigh, Her virgins are afflicted, And she is in bitterness.