It has made my vine a waste And my fig tree a stump. It has stripped them bare and hurled them
away; Their branches have become white.
Wail like a virgin clothed with sackcloth For the groom of her youth.
The grain offering and the drink offering have been cut off From the house of the LORD. The priests mourn, The ministers of the LORD.
The field is ruined, The land mourns; For the grain is ruined, The new wine has dried up, Fresh oil has failed.
Be ashamed, you farm workers, Wail, you vinedressers, For the wheat and the barley; Because the harvest of the field is destroyed.
The vine has dried up And the fig tree has withered; The pomegranate, the palm also, and the apple tree, All the trees of the field have dried up. Indeed, joy has dried up From the sons of mankind.
Put on sackcloth
And mourn, you priests; Wail, you ministers of the altar! Come, spend the night in sackcloth, You ministers of my God, For the grain offering and the drink offering Have been withheld from the house of your God.