For, behold, I will send serpents, cockatrices, among you, which will
charmed, and they shall bite you, saith the LORD.
I would comfort myself against sorrow, my heart is
faint in me.
Behold the voice of the cry of the daughter of my people because of them that dwell in a far country: Is
not the LORD in Zion? is
not her king in her? Why have they provoked me to anger with their graven images, and
with strange vanities?
The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and we are not saved.
For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt; I am black; astonishment hath taken hold on me.
no balm in Gilead; is there
no physician there? why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered?