He does not think clearly; he lacks the wit and knowledge to say, “Half the wood I burned in the fire, on its embers I baked bread, I roasted meat and ate. Shall I turn the rest into an abomination? Shall I worship a block of wood?”
They say to a piece of wood, “You are my father,” and to a stone, “You gave me birth.” They turn their backs to me, not their faces; yet in their time of trouble they cry out, “Rise up and save us!”
My people are fools, they do not know me; They are senseless children, without understanding; They are wise at evil, but they do not know how to do good.
My people consult their piece of wood, and their wand makes pronouncements for them, For the spirit of prostitution has led them astray; they prostitute themselves, forsaking their God.
Of what use is the carved image, that its maker should carve it? Or the molten image, the lying oracle, that its very maker should trust in it, and make mute idols?
For the teraphim have spoken nonsense, the diviners have seen false visions; Deceitful dreams they have told, empty comfort they have offered. This is why they wandered like sheep, wretched, for they have no shepherd.