And I make it a waste, It is not pruned, nor arranged, And gone up have brier and thorn, And on the thick clouds I lay a charge, From raining upon it rain.
I have looked, and lo, The fruitful place `is' a wilderness, And all its cities have been broken down, Because of Jehovah, Because of the fierceness of His anger.
And made desolate her vine and her fig-tree, Of which she said, A gift they `are' to me, That my lovers have given to me, And I have made them for a forest, And consumed them hath a beast of the field.
For, lo, they have gone because of destruction, Egypt gathereth them, Moph burieth them, The desirable things of their silver, Nettles possess them -- a thorn `is' in their tents.
`Hear ye another simile: There was a certain man, a householder, who planted a vineyard, and did put a hedge round it, and digged in it a wine-press, and built a tower, and gave it out to husbandmen, and went abroad.