From the orchards are taken away joy and gladness, In the vineyards there is no singing, no shout of joy; In the wine presses no one treads grapes, the vintage shout is stilled.
The vine has dried up, the fig tree has withered; The pomegranate, even the date palm and the apple— every tree in the field has dried up. Joy itself has dried up among the people.
For though the fig tree does not blossom, and no fruit appears on the vine, Though the yield of the olive fails and the terraces produce no nourishment, Though the flocks disappear from the fold and there is no herd in the stalls,
Their wealth shall be given to plunder and their houses to devastation; They will build houses, but not dwell in them; They will plant vineyards, but not drink their wine.