Isaiah 32:9–15

Rise up, you women who are at ease, hear my voice;

you complacent daughters, give ear to my speech.

In little more than a year

you will shudder, you complacent women;

for the grape harvest fails,

the fruit harvest will not come.

Tremble, you women who are at ease,

shudder, you complacent ones;

strip, and make yourselves bare,

and tie sackcloth around your waist.

Beat your breasts for the pleasant fields,

for the fruitful vine,

for the soil of my people

growing up in thorns and briers,

yes, for all the joyous houses

in the exultant city.

For the palace is forsaken,

the populous city deserted;

the hill and the watchtower

will become dens forever,

a joy of wild donkeys,

a pasture of flocks;

until the Spirit is poured upon us from on high,

and the wilderness becomes a fruitful field,

and the fruitful field is deemed a forest.

You women who are so complacent,

rise up and listen to me;

you daughters who feel secure,

hear what I have to say!

In little more than a year

you who feel secure will tremble;

the grape harvest will fail,

and the harvest of fruit will not come.

Tremble, you complacent women;

shudder, you daughters who feel secure!

Strip off your fine clothes

and wrap yourselves in rags.

Beat your breasts for the pleasant fields,

for the fruitful vines

and for the land of my people,

a land overgrown with thorns and briers—

yes, mourn for all houses of merriment

and for this city of revelry.

The fortress will be abandoned,

the noisy city deserted;

citadel and watchtower will become a wasteland forever,

the delight of donkeys, a pasture for flocks,

till the Spirit is poured on us from on high,

and the desert becomes a fertile field,

and the fertile field seems like a forest.

Listen, you women who lie around in ease.

Listen to me, you who are so smug.

In a short time—just a little more than a year—

you careless ones will suddenly begin to care.

For your fruit crops will fail,

and the harvest will never take place.

Tremble, you women of ease;

throw off your complacency.

Strip off your pretty clothes,

and put on burlap to show your grief.

Beat your breasts in sorrow for your bountiful farms

and your fruitful grapevines.

For your land will be overgrown with thorns and briers.

Your joyful homes and happy towns will be gone.

The palace and the city will be deserted,

and busy towns will be empty.

Wild donkeys will frolic and flocks will graze

in the empty forts and watchtowers

until at last the Spirit is poured out

on us from heaven.

Then the wilderness will become a fertile field,

and the fertile field will yield bountiful crops.

Women who are at ease, rise up; hear my voice!

Carefree daughters, listen to my word!

In a year you will tremble, carefree ones,

for the vintage will come to an end;

the harvest will not come.

Tremble, you who are at ease;

tremble, carefree ones;

strip, and strip yourself,

and gird yourself on your loins,

mourning over breasts,

over fields of delight,

over the fruitful vine,

over the soil of my people.

It goes up in thorns and briers,

indeed over all of the houses of joy in the jubilant city.

For the palace will be forsaken,

the crowded city deserted;

the hill and the watchtower will become a cave forever,

the joy of wild asses, a pasture for flocks.

Until a spirit is poured out on us from on high,

and the wilderness becomes a fruitful field,

and the fruitful field is reckoned as the forest.

Rise up, ye women that are at ease; hear my voice,

Ye careless daughters; give ear unto my speech.

Many days and years shall ye be troubled, ye careless women:

For the vintage shall fail, the gathering shall not come.

Tremble, ye women that are at ease; be troubled, ye careless ones:

Strip you, and make you bare, and gird sackcloth upon your loins.

They shall lament for the teats,

For the pleasant fields, for the fruitful vine.

Upon the land of my people shall come up thorns and briers;

Yea, upon all the houses of joy in the joyous city:

Because the palaces shall be forsaken;

The multitude of the city shall be left;

The forts and towers shall be for dens for ever,

A joy of wild asses, a pasture of flocks;

Until the spirit be poured upon us from on high,

And the wilderness be a fruitful field,

And the fruitful field be counted for a forest.