When I remember these things, I pour out my soul within me. For I would go with the throng of people, and lead them in procession to the house of God, with the voice of joy and praise, a multitude keeping festival.
Why is my pain perpetual and my wound incurable, which refuses to be healed? Shall You be altogether to me as a deceptive stream and as waters that fail?
Her adversaries have become her masters, her enemies prosper; for the Lord has afflicted her because of the multitude of her transgressions. Her children have gone into captivity before the enemy.
Her uncleanness is in her skirts; she took no thought of her future; therefore her fall is astounding; she has no comforter. “O Lord, look upon my affliction, for the enemy has triumphed!”