Idol-makers are all as nothing; their playthings do no good. Their promoters neither see nor know anything, so they ought to be ashamed.
Who would form a god or cast an idol that does no good?
All its worshippers will be ashamed, and its artisans, who are only human. They will all gather and stand, tremble and be ashamed together.
A blacksmith with his tools works it over coals, and shapes it with hammers, and works it with his strong arm. He even becomes hungry and weak. If he didn't drink water, he'd pass out.
A carpenter stretches out a string, marks it out with a stylus, fashions it with carving tools, and marks it with a compass. He makes it into a human form, like a splendid human, to live in a temple.
He cuts down cedars for himself, or chooses a cypress or oak, selecting from all the trees of the forest. He plants a pine, and the rain makes it grow.
It becomes suitable to burn for humans, so he takes some of the wood and warms himself. He kindles fire and bakes bread. He fashions a god and worships it; he makes an idol and bows down to it.
Half of it he burns in the fire; on that half he roasts and eats meat, and he is satisfied. He warms himself and says, "Ah, I'm warm, watching the fire!"
And the rest of it he makes into a god, into his idol, and he bows down, worships, and prays to it, saying, "Save me, for you are my god!"
They don't know or comprehend, for their eyes can't see and their minds can't comprehend.
He doesn't think, and has no knowledge or understanding to think: Half of it I burned in the fire, and I baked bread on its coals, and roasted meat and ate. Should I make the rest into something detestable? Should I bow down to a block of wood?
He's feeding on ashes; his deluded mind has led him astray. He can't save himself and say, "Isn't this thing in my hand a lie?"