Your mother was like a vine in a vineyard planted beside the waters;
she bore lush fruit and foliage because of the plentiful water, and she produced mighty branches, fit for rulers' scepters. She grew tall, and her crown went up between the clouds. Because of her height and thick growth, she became conspicuous.
So she was struck down in anger, thrown down to the ground. The east wind dried her out and destroyed her fruit; it sapped the branch of its strength, and fire consumed it.
So now she is planted in the desert, in a parched and thirsty land,
and fire has gone out from her branch and consumed her foliage and fruit, leaving her no strong branch or ruler's scepter. This is a lamentation, and it will serve as a lamentation.