DIRGE FOR THE NINTH OF AB
95
Slain of the sword;
Lift up thine hands to Him,
To Him implored.
The voice of Zion's daughter sore doth moan,
She waileth from afar in anguish deep,
Uttereth the cry of Heshbon overthrown,
And with the weeping of Mephaath doth weep:
Woe! I have drunk the cup, have drained it! Woe!
Lions with savage fangs have me undone,
Daughter of Babylon, that liest low!
Daughter of Edom, O thou guilty one!—
Wherefore, O Zion, art bewailing thee
O'er this thy doom? for lo! thy sin is known:
By the abundance of iniquity
Beholdest thou the exile of thine own;
For that thy watchman true thou didst forsake,
To hearken unto words false omens spake.
