Women of leisure, stand up! Hear my voice! Carefree daughters, listen to my word!
In a little over a year, the carefree will shudder, because the grape harvest will fail; the vintage won't arrive.
Tremble, all of you who are at ease; shudder, all of you who are secure! Strip yourselves, bare your skin, and tie mourning clothes around your waist,
beating your breasts for the pleasant fields, for the fruitful vine,
for my people's soil growing barbs and thorns, for all the joyous houses in the jubilant town.
The palace will be deserted, the crowded city abandoned. Stronghold and watchtower will become empty fields forever, suited for the pleasure of wild donkeys, and a pasture for flocks—
until a spirit from on high is poured out on us, and the desert turns into farmland, and the farmland is considered a forest.
Then justice will reside in wild lands, and righteousness will abide in farmlands.
The fruit of righteousness will be peace, and the outcome of righteousness, calm and security forever.
Then my people will live in a peaceful dwelling, in secure homes, in carefree resting places.
Even if the forest falls and the humbled city is laid low,
those who sow beside any stream will be happy, sending out ox and donkey to graze.