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All of us have become like something unclean,
and all our righteous acts are like a filthy cloth.[a]
All of us have withered like a leaf,
and our guilt carries us away like the wind.
There is no one who calls on your name,
who rouses himself to take hold of you.
So you hid your face from us.
You made us melt by the power of our guilt.
But now, Lord, you are our father.
We are the clay, and you are our potter.
All of us are the work of your hand.

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Footnotes

  1. Isaiah 64:6 Literally the cloth of periods. The blood of a woman’s period made anyone who contacted it ceremonially unclean.