Bíobla ar líne

Fógraí


An Bíobla ar fad Sean-Tiomna Tiomna Nua




Jeremiah 8:21 - English Standard Version 2016

For the wound of the daughter of my people is my heart wounded; I mourn, and dismay has taken hold on me.

Féach an chaibidil
Taispeáin Interlinear Bible

Tuilleadh leaganacha

King James Version (Oxford) 1769

For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt; I am black; astonishment hath taken hold on me.

Féach an chaibidil

Amplified Bible - Classic Edition

For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I [Jeremiah] hurt; I go around mourning; dismay has taken hold on me.

Féach an chaibidil

American Standard Version (1901)

For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt: I mourn; dismay hath taken hold on me.

Féach an chaibidil

Common English Bible

Because my people are crushed, I am crushed; darkness and despair overwhelm me.

Féach an chaibidil

Catholic Public Domain Version

Over the destruction of the daughter of my people, I am contrite and saddened; astonishment has taken hold of me.

Féach an chaibidil

Douay-Rheims version of The Bible - 1752 version

For the affliction of the daughter of my people, I am afflicted: and made sorrowful: astonishment hath taken hold on me.

Féach an chaibidil
Aistriúcháin eile



Jeremiah 8:21
14 Tagairtí Cros  

I said to the king, “Let the king live forever! Why should not my face be sad, when the city, the place of my fathers’ graves, lies in ruins, and its gates have been destroyed by fire?”


“You shall say to them this word: ‘Let my eyes run down with tears night and day, and let them not cease, for the virgin daughter of my people is shattered with a great wound, with a very grievous blow.


“Judah mourns, and her gates languish; her people lament on the ground, and the cry of Jerusalem goes up.


I have not run away from being your shepherd, nor have I desired the day of sickness. You know what came out of my lips; it was before your face.


My anguish, my anguish! I writhe in pain! Oh the walls of my heart! My heart is beating wildly; I cannot keep silent, for I hear the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war.


“The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.”


Oh that my head were waters, and my eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people!


I am the man who has seen affliction under the rod of his wrath;


Before them peoples are in anguish; all faces grow pale.


Desolate! Desolation and ruin! Hearts melt and knees tremble; anguish is in all loins; all faces grow pale!


And when he drew near and saw the city, he wept over it,