^{13 Ref} Over the ground of my people thorn -- brier goeth up, Surely over all houses of joy of the exulting city,

^{14 Ref} Surely the palace hath been left, The multitude of the city forsaken, Fort and watch-tower hath been for dens unto the age, A joy of wild asses -- a pasture of herds;

^{15 Ref} Till emptied out on us is the Spirit from on high, And a wilderness hath become a fruitful field, And the fruitful field for a forest is reckoned.