When I remember these things, I pour out my soul on me; for I had gone with the multitude; I went with them to the house of God with the voice of joy and praise, a multitude keeping the feast.
Why has my pain been without end, and why is my wound incurable, refusing to be healed? You surely are to me like a deceitful brook, waters that cannot be trusted.
Her enemies have become as chief; her haters are at ease; for Jehovah has afflicted her for the multitude of her sins. Her children have gone, captive before the enemy.
Her uncleanness is in her skirts; she did not remember her end, and has gone down astoundingly. There is no comforter for her. O Jehovah, behold my affliction, for the enemy has magnified himself.