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The Prophet Mourns for the People

¹⁸ My joy is gone, grief is upon me,
   my heart is sick.
¹⁹ Hark, the cry of my poor people
   from far and wide in the land:
‘Is the Lord not in Zion?
   Is her King not in her?’
(‘Why have they provoked me to anger with their images,
   with their foreign idols?’)
²⁰ ‘The harvest is past, the summer is ended,
   and we are not saved.’
²¹ For the hurt of my poor people I am hurt,
   I mourn, and dismay has taken hold of me.

²² Is there no balm in Gilead?
   Is there no physician there?
Why then has the health of my poor people
   not been restored?

9^*O that my head were a spring of water,
   and my eyes a fountain of tears,
so that I might weep day and night
   for the slain of my poor people!

⁴ Hear this, you that trample on the needy,
   and bring to ruin the poor of the land,
⁵ saying, ‘When will the new moon be over
   so that we may sell grain;
and the sabbath,
   so that we may offer wheat for sale?
We will make the ephah small and the shekel great,
   and practise deceit with false balances,
⁶ buying the poor for silver
   and the needy for a pair of sandals,
   and selling the sweepings of the wheat.’

⁷ The Lord has sworn by the pride of Jacob:
Surely I will never forget any of their deeds.