And I said to the king: O king, live for ever: Why should not my countenance be sorrowful, seeing the city of the place of the sepulchres of my fathers is desolate, and the gates thereof are burnt with fire?
Jeremiah 8:21 - 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. 更多版本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. 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. American Standard Version (1901) For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt: I mourn; dismay hath taken hold on me. Common English Bible Because my people are crushed, I am crushed; darkness and despair overwhelm me. Catholic Public Domain Version Over the destruction of the daughter of my people, I am contrite and saddened; astonishment has taken hold of me. 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. |
And I said to the king: O king, live for ever: Why should not my countenance be sorrowful, seeing the city of the place of the sepulchres of my fathers is desolate, and the gates thereof are burnt with fire?
And thou shalt speak this word to them: Let my eyes shed down tears night and day and let them not cease, because the virgin daughter of my people is afflicted with a great affliction, with an exceeding grievous evil.
Judea hath mourned, and the gates thereof are fallen and are become obscure on the ground, and the cry of Jerusalem is gone up.
And I am not troubled, following thee for my pastor: and I have not desired the day of man, thou knowest. That which went out of my lips hath been right in thy sight.
My bowels, my bowels, are in pain, the senses of my heart are troubled within me. I will not hold my peace, for my soul hath heard the sound of the trumpet, the cry of battle.
Who will give water to my head and a fountain of tears to my eyes, and I will weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people?
At their presence the people shall be in grievous pains: all faces shall be made like a kettle.
She is destroyed, and rent, and torn: the heart melteth, and the knees fail, and all the loins lose their strength: and the faces of them all are as the blackness of a kettle.