And they lifted up their eyes from a distance, and did not recognise him, and they lifted their voices and wept. And each one tore his robe and sprinkled dust on his head toward the heavens.
No one has power over the spirit to retain the spirit, and no one has power in the day of death. There is no discharge in battle, and wrongness does not release those who are given to it.
Their appearance has become blacker than soot; They have become unrecognised in the streets; Their skin has shrivelled on their bones, It has become dry, it has become as wood.