11 Tremble ye women, ye easy ones, Be troubled, ye confident ones, Strip and make bare, with a girdle on the loins,
12 For breasts they are lamenting, For fields of desire, for the fruitful vine.
13 Over the ground of my people thorn--brier goeth up, Surely over all houses of joy of the exulting city,
14 Surely the palace hath been left, The multitude of the city forsaken, Fort and watchtower hath been for dens unto the age, A joy of wild asses--a pasture of herds;
15 Till emptied out on us is the Spirit from on high, And a wilderness hath become a fruitful field, And the fruitful field for a forest is reckoned.
16 And dwelt in the wilderness hath judgment, And righteousness in the fruitful field remaineth.
17 And a work of the righteousness hath been peace, And a service of the righteousness-- Keeping quiet and confidence unto the age.