The ways of Zion are mourning, Without any coming at the appointed time, All her gates are desolate, her priests sigh, Her virgins are afflicted -- and she hath bitterness.
And have turned your festivals to mourning, And all your songs to lamentation, And caused sackcloth to come up on all loins, And on every head -- baldness, And made it as a mourning `of' an only one, And its latter end as a day of bitterness.
And He did not make one `only', And He hath the remnant of the Spirit. And what `is' the one `alone'! He is seeking a godly seed. And ye have been watchful over your spirit, And with the wife of thy youth, None doth deal treacherously.