Ah! majestic garland of the drunkards of Ephraim, Fading blooms of his glorious beauty, at the head of the fertile valley, upon those stupefied with wine.
There are none who call upon your name, none who rouse themselves to take hold of you; For you have hidden your face from us and have delivered us up to our crimes.
How long must the land mourn, the grass of the whole countryside wither? Because of the wickedness of those who dwell in it beasts and birds disappear, for they say, “God does not care about our future.”
Therefore the land dries up, and everything that dwells in it languishes: The beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and even the fish of the sea perish.