Lamentations 2:10-13

The elders of beloved Zion sit mute on the ground. They have thrown dust on their heads and put on sackcloth. The young virgins of Jerusalem bow their heads in sorrow to the ground. My eyes have no tears left, and my stomach is tied in knots. My heart is spilled out into the dirt over the destruction of the daughter of my people. Little toddlers and children collapse in the streets of the city. They keep saying, “Mommy, I’m hungry,” as they faint like wounded men in the city streets. Their souls trickle away, and they breathe their last in the embrace of their mothers. With what can I compare you? What can I say to you, beloved Jerusalem? To what can I liken you, in order to comfort you, fair Zion? For your wound is as deep as the sea. Who can heal you?