And they broke down the cities, and each man threw a stone on every good piece of land and filled it. And they stopped up all the fountains of water and cut down all the good trees, until only the stones of Qir Ḥ
Look down from the heavens, and see from Your set-apart and comely dwelling. Where are Your ardour and Your might, the stirring of Your inward parts and Your compassion toward me? Are they withheld?
“As a partridge that broods but does not hatch, so is he who gets riches, but not by right. It leaves him in the midst of his days, and at his end he is a fool.”
O my inward parts, my inward parts! I am in pain! O the walls of my heart! My heart pounds in me, I am not silent. For you have heard, O my being, the sound of the ram’s horn, a shout of battle!
