And Jehovah hath delighted to bruise him, He hath made him sick, If his soul doth make an offering for guilt, He seeth seed -- he prolongeth days, And the pleasure of Jehovah in his hand doth prosper.
He is despised, and left of men, A man of pains, and acquainted with sickness, And as one hiding the face from us, He is despised, and we esteemed him not.
Sword, awake against My shepherd, And against a hero -- My fellow, An affirmation of Jehovah of Hosts. Smite the shepherd, and scattered is the flock, And I have put back My hand on the little ones.