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The elders of the daughters,
Sat on the ground in silence;
They threw dust on the waters,
And did not have the patience.
They had thrown dust on their heads,
And had put on a sackcloth;
Then had fallen on their beds,
As they acted like a sloth.
They bowed their heads to the ground,
As their eyes spent with weeping;
Their bowels made a churning sound,
At the time they were sleeping.
Their bile was pouring out,
As babies and infants faint;
No pity having only doubt,
As they have heard their complaint.
They had cried for their mothers,
Want to suckle on their milk;
As they faint like their brothers,
On the bed sheets made from silk.
Their life is poured out on bed,
Desiring for bread and wine;
As the silk sheets have turned red,
Too weak to get up to dine.
So, what can I say for you,
And to what could we compare;
With a comfort that is true,
Of consoling that we share.
Virgin daughter of Zion,
His breach is great like the sea;
The Lord can be a lion,
To devour you and me.
His prophets so soon have seen,
False and deceptive visions;
Iniquities that have been,
Judgment has brought misprisions.
Arise and cry out in the night,
At the start of the night sentry;
Pour out your heart at the sight,
Open the gate for entry.
Copyright © 2020 Richard Newton Sherrer
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The Judgment
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