Come, I pray you, and let us settle the disputer Saith Yahweh,—Though your sins be found like scarlet, As snow, shall they be made white, Though they appear red like crimson, As wool, shall they become.
O generation see, ye, the word of Yahweh, A desert, became I unto Israel? Or a land of thick darkness? Wherefore, have my people said, We have roved about, We will not come in any more unto thee?
Shall it not, if thou do right, be lifted up? But if thou do not right, at the entrance a sin-bearer is lying,—Unto thee, moreover, shall be his longing, though, thou, rule over him.