When he thunders, the waters in the heavens roar, and he brings up clouds from the end of the earth, Makes lightning flash in the rain, and brings forth the wind from his storehouses.
Now they continue to sin, making for themselves molten images, Silver idols according to their skill, all of them the work of artisans. “To these, offer sacrifice,” they say. People kiss calves!
Ah! you who say to wood, “Awake!” to silent stone, “Arise!” Can any such thing give oracles? It is only overlaid with gold and silver, there is no breath in it at all.