Joy is gone from our hearts; our dancing has turned to mourning.
My lyre is tuned to mourning, and my pipe to the sound of wailing.
You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
I will banish from them the sounds of joy and gladness, the voices of bride and bridegroom, the sound of millstones and the light of the lamp.
I will turn your religious festivals into mourning and all your singing into weeping. I will make all of you wear sackcloth and shave your heads. I will make that time like mourning for an only son and the end of it like a bitter day.