We lodge in the villages, we go early to the vineyards, We see if the vine hath flourished, The sweet smelling-flower hath opened. The pomegranates have blossomed, There do I give to thee my loves;
Sing, O heavens, for Jehovah hath wrought, Shout, O lower parts of earth, Break forth, O mountains, with singing, Forest, and every tree in it, For Jehovah hath redeemed Jacob, And in Israel He doth beautify Himself.
And it is plucked up in fury, To the earth it hath been cast, And the east wind hath dried up its fruit, Broken and withered hath been the rod of its strength, Fire hath consumed it.
`An empty vine `is' Israel, Fruit he maketh like to himself, According to the abundance of his fruit, He hath multiplied for the altars, According to the goodness of his land, They have made goodly standing-pillars.