But as for me, I have neither forced myself away from tending the flock after thee, Nor yet for the woeful day, have I longed—thou, knowest,—That which came out of my lips, before thy face, was uttered.
But if ye will not hear it, In secret places, shall my soul weep Because of the pride, And mine eye, shall flow over, and run down with tears, Because captive hath been taken the flock of Yahweh.
How can I give thee up, Ephraim? abandon thee Israel? How can I make thee as Admah? set thee as Zeboim? Mine own heart, turneth against me, at once, are kindled my compassions.
For as in Mount Perazim, will Yahweh, arise, As in the vale of Gibeon, will he be stirred,—To do his work—foreign is his work, And to perform his task—strange is his task.