For even the hind in the field hath brought forth--to forsake it! For there hath been no grass.
Naphtali is a hind sent away, Who is giving beauteous young ones.
The voice of Jehovah paineth the oaks, And maketh bare the forests, And in His temple every one saith, `Glory.'
For, the waters of Nimrim are desolations, For, withered hath been the hay, Finished hath been the tender grass, A green thing there hath not been.
How have cattle sighed! Perplexed have been droves of oxen, For there is no pasture for them, Also droves of sheep have been desolated.