vineyards thou dost plant, and hast laboured, and wine thou dost not drink nor gather, for the worm doth consume it;
He shaketh off as a vine his unripe fruit, And casteth off as an olive his blossom.
For ten acres of vineyard do yield one bath, And an homer of seed yieldeth an ephah.
And God appointeth a worm at the going up of the dawn on the morrow, and it smiteth the gourd, and it drieth up.
Though the fig-tree doth not flourish, And there is no produce among vines, Failed hath the work of the olive, And fields have not yielded food, Cut off from the fold hath been the flock, And there is no herd in the stalls.