Her foes have become the masters; her enemies prosper because the Lord has made her suffer for the multitude of her transgressions; her children have gone away, captives before the foe.

For these things I weep; my eyes flow with tears; for a comforter is far from me, one to revive my courage; my children are desolate, for the enemy has prevailed.

Arise, cry out in the night, at the beginning of the watches! Pour out your heart like water before the presence of the Lord! Lift your hands to him for the lives of your children, who faint for hunger at the head of every street.

Look, O Lord, and consider! To whom have you done this? Should women eat their offspring, the children they have borne? Should priest and prophet be killed in the sanctuary of the Lord?

The precious children of Zion, worth their weight in fine gold— how they are reckoned as earthen pots, the work of a potter’s hands!

The tongue of the infant sticks to the roof of its mouth for thirst; the children beg for food, but there is nothing for them.

The hands of compassionate women have boiled their own children; they became their food in the destruction of my people.