Look, O Lord, at the anguish I suffer! My stomach churns, And my heart recoils within me: How bitter I am! Outside the sword bereaves— indoors, there is death.
If I walk out into the field, look! those slain by the sword; If I enter the city, look! victims of famine. Both prophet and priest ply their trade in a land they do not know.
Only admit your guilt: how you have rebelled against the Lord, your God, How you ran here and there to strangers under every green tree and would not listen to my voice—oracle of the Lord.
Is Ephraim not my favored son, the child in whom I delight? Even though I threaten him, I must still remember him! My heart stirs for him, I must show him compassion!—oracle of the Lord.
My body! my body! how I writhe! The walls of my heart! My heart beats wildly, I cannot be still; For I myself have heard the blast of the horn, the battle cry.
All her people groan, searching for bread; They give their precious things for food, to retain the breath of life. “Look, O Lord, and pay attention to how I have been demeaned!
Jerusalem has sinned grievously, therefore she has become a mockery; Those who honored her now demean her, for they saw her nakedness; She herself groans out loud, and turns away.
Her uncleanness is on her skirt; she has no thought of her future. Her downfall is astonishing, with no one to comfort her. “Look, O Lord, at my misery; how the enemy triumphs!”
My eyes are spent with tears, my stomach churns; My bile is poured out on the ground at the brokenness of the daughter of my people, As children and infants collapse in the streets of the town.
The sword is outside; disease and hunger are within. Whoever is in the fields will die by the sword; whoever is in the city disease and hunger will devour.
How could I give you up, Ephraim, or deliver you up, Israel? How could I treat you as Admah, or make you like Zeboiim? My heart is overwhelmed, my pity is stirred.
I hear, and my body trembles; at the sound, my lips quiver. Decay invades my bones, my legs tremble beneath me. I await the day of distress that will come upon the people who attack us.
Out in the street the sword shall bereave, and at home the terror For the young man and the young woman alike, the nursing babe as well as the gray beard.