Our music and mirth were no longer heard, only sadness. We hung up our harps on the willow trees.
I will silence the sound of your songs, and the music of your stringed instruments will not be heard again.
The joyful mirth of the tambourines is stilled, the jubilant noise of the revelers is ended, and the happy sound of the harp falls silent.
The music of harps, minstrels, flutes, and trumpets will never grace your city again. No artisan of any trade will ever be found in you again, and the noise of factories falls silent.
Let the celebration begin! I will sing with drum accompaniment and with the sweet sound of the harp and guitar strumming.
Play the guitar as you lift your praises loaded with thanksgiving. Sing and make joyous music with all you’ve got inside.