Though you make them grow the day you plant them and make them blossom the morning you set them out, The harvest shall disappear on a day of sickness and incurable pain.
Cut off the sower from Babylon and those who wield sickles at harvest time! Before the destroying sword, all of them turn back to their own people, all flee to their own land.
Therefore, thus says the Lord, the God of hosts, the Lord: In every square there shall be lamentation, and in every street they shall cry, “Oh, no!” They shall summon the farmers to wail and the professional mourners to lament.