At that time it will be said To this people and to Jerusalem, “A dry wind of the desolate heights blows in the wilderness Toward the daughter of My people— Not to fan or to cleanse—

O daughter of my people, Dress in sackcloth And roll about in ashes! Make mourning as for an only son, most bitter lamentation; For the plunderer will suddenly come upon us.

For they have healed the hurt of the daughter of My people slightly, Saying, ‘Peace, peace!’ When there is no peace.

Listen! The voice, The cry of the daughter of my people From a far country: “Is not the Lord in Zion? Is not her King in her?” “Why have they provoked Me to anger With their carved images— With foreign idols?”

For the hurt of the daughter of my people I am hurt. I am mourning; Astonishment has taken hold of me.

Is there no balm in Gilead, Is there no physician there? Why then is there no recovery For the health of the daughter of my people?

Disobedience Brings God’s Judgment

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!

Therefore thus says the Lord of hosts: “Behold, I will refine them and try them; For how shall I deal with the daughter of My people?

“Therefore you shall say this word to them: ‘Let my eyes flow with tears night and day, And let them not cease; For the virgin daughter of my people Has been broken with a mighty stroke, with a very severe blow.