Our fathers sinned, and are no more; We have borne their iniquities.
Servants rule over us: There is none to deliver us out of their hand.
We get our bread at the peril of our lives, Because of the sword of the wilderness.
Our skin is black like an oven, Because of the burning heat of famine.
They ravished the women in Tziyon, The virgins in the cities of Yehudah.
Princes were hanged up by their hand: The faces of Zakenim were not honored.
The young men bare the mill; The children stumbled under the wood.
The Zakenim have ceased from the gate, The young men from their music.
The joy of our heart is ceased; Our dance is turned into mourning.
The crown is fallen from our head: Woe to us! for we have sinned.
For this our heart is faint; For these things our eyes are dim;