Lamentations, Chapter 2

How hath Jehova's wrath, ô Sion, spread
A vaile of Clouds about thy Daughters head!
From Heaven to Earth thy beauty, Israel, throwne!
Nor in his fierce displeasure spar'd his owne!
How hath he swallow'd Judah's Mansions! ra'st
His Holds! and to the ground his Bulwarks cast!
The Land in his relentlesse rage profan'd;
And with the Blood of her owne Princes stain'd!
He, in his Indignation, hath the Horne
Of Israel from his bleeding forehead torne.
Before the Foe, O forc't to flye with shame!
His wrath to Jacob a devouring flame.
Foe-like hath bent his Bow; his Hostile hand
Advanc't, and slaine the Beauty of the Land:
All that the eye attracted with Desire;
And powr'd his anger forth like floods of Fire.
Against thee, Solyma, Converts his Powers:
Sad Israel, and his Pallaces, devoures.
His strong built Fortresses to ruines turnes:
Whil'st Judah's Daughter for her Children mournes.
His Tabernacle He with Violence
Hath now demolish't, like a Garden Fence.
None Sions feasts and Sabbaths celebrate;
Both King and Priest abnoxious to his hate.
Detests his Sanctuary, and forsakes
His flamelesse Altar: while the Enemy takes
His Palaces and Walles, fill'd with their Cryes:
As late by us in our Solemnities.
The ruine of Jerusalem designes:
And levels the Foundation with his Lines.
Nor his fierce hand withdrawes: the tottering walls
And stooping Turrets, languish in their falls.
Her Gates sinke to the Earth, with shiver'd bars:
Her King and Princes Slaves, or slaine in wars.
All Lawes surcease. Jehova to her Seers
No more by Visions or by Dreames appeares.
Her Elders sit on earth, with silent Woe;
And Dust upon their Silver Tresses throw:
In sack-cloath mourne. Her Virgins hang their heads,
Like drooping Flowers that bow to their cold Beds.
My Bowels toyle; mine eyes with teares are drown'd;
My bleeding Liver powr'd upon the Ground:
To see my tender Babes, unpittied, lye
On flinty Pavements, and through famine dye.
While others to their weeping Mothers say:
O give us Food, our hunger to allay!
Then, fainting by the bloodlesse wound of Death,
In their infolding Armes sigh out their Breath.
How shall my tongue expresse, ô how compare
Thy matchlesse Sorrowes, to asswage thy Care,
Distressed Sions Daughter! for thy breach
Is like the Seas; whose rage no bounds impeach.
Vaine tales, and foolish, have thy Prophets told;
Nor would they thy exiling Sins unfold:
False Burthens, and false Prophecies, invent;
The fatall Authors of thy Banishment.
The Passengers, they wry their heads aside;
Hisse at thee, clap their hands, and thus deride:
Is this their only Joy? which they of all
The world the Beauty and Perfection call?
Thy Foes make mouthes, scoffe, grind their teeth, and say;
Now have we swallow'd our desired prey:
This is that Day we did so long expect,
Wherein our hopes have had their wish't effect.
God hath accomplished his old Decree;
We thy oft-menaced Destruction see:
Hath ruin'd without pitie; made a Scorne
To thy Triumphant Foe, and rais'd his Horne.
To him their hearts now cry: O Sions Towers!
All Day, all Night, let teares descend in Showers.
O never give thy labouring Thoughts repose!
Nor let the humid Night thy eye-lids close!
Arise, and cry; cry from the Nights first houre:
Thy Heart before thy God, like water, powre.
O raise thy Hands to Heaven; least Famines force
Thy Childrens soules from their pale corps divorce.
Lord, see thy Masacre's! shall cursed wombes
Become their new-borne childrens fatall Tombes!
Thy Priests and Prophets by the sword are slaine:
And with their Blood thy Sanctuary staine.
Lo! in the Streets old Men and Infants lye:
My Virgins and bold Youth by slaughter dye.
Thou with their Blood thy Vengeance didst imbrew:
Thy burning Fury without pitty slew.
As in a solemne Day, thy Terrors have
Inviron'd me: thy Anger cloyes the Grave.
Those whom I swatled, in my Bosome bred;
The Barbarous Foe hath sent unto the Dead.