²¹ For the hurt of the daughter of my people am I hurt; I am black; astonishment hath taken hold on me.

¹⁷ Therefore thou shalt say this word unto them; Let mine eyes run down with tears night and day, and let them not cease: for the virgin daughter of my people is broken with a great breach, with a very grievous blow.

¹⁰ She is empty, and void, and waste: and the heart melteth, and the knees smite together, and much pain is in all loins, and the faces of them all gather blackness.

⁶ Before their face the people shall be much pained: all faces shall gather blackness.

¹ I say the truth in Christ, I lie not, my conscience also bearing me witness in the Holy Ghost,

² That I have great heaviness and continual sorrow in my heart.

³ For I could wish that myself were accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh:

¹ Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people!

¹⁹ My bowels, my bowels! I am pained at my very heart; my heart maketh a noise in me; I cannot hold my peace, because thou hast heard, O my soul, the sound of the trumpet, the alarm of war.

⁴¹ And when he was come near, he beheld the city, and wept over it,

¹⁶ As for me, I have not hastened from being a pastor to follow thee: neither have I desired the woeful day; thou knowest: that which came out of my lips was right before thee.

⁵ I am black, but comely, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Kedar, as the curtains of Solomon.

⁶ Look not upon me, because I am black, because the sun hath looked upon me: my mother's children were angry with me; they made me the keeper of the vineyards; but mine own vineyard have I not kept.

³ For there they that carried us away captive required of us a song; and they that wasted us required of us mirth, saying, Sing us one of the songs of Zion.

⁴ How shall we sing the LORD's song in a strange land?

⁵ If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.

⁶ If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth; if I prefer not Jerusalem above my chief joy.

³ And said unto the king, Let the king live for ever: why should not my countenance be sad, when the city, the place of my fathers' sepulchres, lieth waste, and the gates thereof are consumed with fire?