“How lovely are your tents, O Jacob!
Your dwellings, O Israel!

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20 (A)My tent is plundered,
And all my cords are broken;
My children have gone from me,
And they are (B)no more.
There is no one to pitch my tent anymore,
Or set up my curtains.

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(A)Standing like an enemy, He has bent His bow;
With His right hand, like an adversary,
He has slain (B)all who were pleasing to His eye;
On the tent of the daughter of Zion,
He has poured out His fury like fire.

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