The ways of Zion do mourn, Empty streets, no songs, no children laughing, Because none come to the solemn feasts. Where have the children gone? All her gates are desolate, The parades are a distant memory. Her priests sigh, The festal celebrations are ended. Her virgins are afflicted, The days of youthful flower faded, And she is in bitterness, Waiting for days to end, And for eternity to begin.