He hath wrought iron `with' an axe, And hath wrought with coals, And with hammers doth form it, And doth work it by his powerful arm, Yea, he is hungry, and there is no power, He doth not drink water, and he is wearied.
-- They are pouring out gold from a bag, And silver on the beam they weigh, They hire a refiner, and he maketh it a god, They fall down, yea, they bow themselves.
They lift him up on the shoulder, They carry him, and cause him to rest in his place, And he standeth, from his place he moveth not, Yea, one crieth unto him, and he answereth not, From his adversity he saveth him not.
And now do they add to sin, And make to them a molten image of their silver, By their own understanding -- idols, A work of artizans -- all of it, Of them they say, who `are' sacrificers among men, `The calves let them kiss.'
Wo `to' him who is saying to wood, `Awake,' `Stir up,' to a dumb stone, It a teacher! lo, it is overlaid -- gold and silver, And there is no spirit in its midst.