¹² To their mothers they say, `Where [are] corn and wine?' In their becoming feeble as a pierced one In the broad places of the city, In their soul pouring itself out into the bosom of their mothers.

⁴ The ways of Zion are mourning, Without any coming at the appointed time, All her gates are desolate, her priests sigh, Her virgins are afflicted -- and she hath bitterness.