Panic and the pit have been our lot, desolation and destruction;
Your misfortunes are double; who is there to grieve with you? Desolation and destruction, famine and sword! Who is there to comfort you?
From on high he hurled fire down into my very bones; He spread out a net for my feet, and turned me back. He has left me desolate, in misery all day long.
The roads to Zion mourn, empty of pilgrims to her feasts. All her gateways are desolate, her priests groan, Her young women grieve; her lot is bitter.
like a trap. For that day will assault everyone who lives on the face of the earth.