My lyre is turned to mourning, and my pipe to the voice of those who weep.
I go about blackened, but not by the sun; I stand up in the assembly, and cry for help.
a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
My mind reels, horror has appalled me; the twilight I longed for has been turned for me into trembling.
In that day the Lord God of hosts called to weeping and mourning, to baldness and girding with sackcloth;
The joy of our hearts has ceased; our dancing has been turned to mourning.
Then the king went to his palace, and spent the night fasting; no diversions were brought to him, and sleep fled from him.
I will turn your feasts into mourning, and all your songs into lamentation; I will bring sackcloth upon all loins, and baldness on every head; I will make it like the mourning for an only son, and the end of it like a bitter day.