Rise up, you women who are at ease, hear my voice; you complacent daughters, listen to my speech.
In little more than a year you will shudder, you complacent ones; for the vintage will fail, the fruit harvest will not come.
Tremble, you women who are at ease, shudder, you complacent ones; strip, and make yourselves bare, and put sackcloth on your loins.
Beat your breasts for the pleasant fields, for the fruitful vine,
for the soil of my people growing up in thorns and briers; yes, for all the joyous houses in the jubilant city.
For the palace will be forsaken, the populous city deserted; the hill and the watchtower will become dens forever, the joy of wild asses, a pasture for flocks;
until a spirit from on high is poured out on us, and the wilderness becomes a fruitful field, and the fruitful field is deemed a forest.
Then justice will dwell in the wilderness, and righteousness abide in the fruitful field.
The effect of righteousness will be peace, and the result of righteousness, quietness and trust forever.
My people will abide in a peaceful habitation, in secure dwellings, and in quiet resting places.
The forest will disappear completely, and the city will be utterly laid low.