The Expositor's Bible: The Prophecies of Jeremiah: With a Sketch of His Life and TimesBall, C. J. (Charles James)
Religion
The Expositor's Bible: The Prophecies of Jeremiah: With a Sketch of His Life and Times
Ball, C. J. (Charles James)
Bible. Jeremiah -- Commentaries
"For even the hind in the field hath yeaned and forsaken her fawn,
For there is no grass.
And the wild asses stand on the bare fells;
They snuff the wind like jackals;
Their eyes fail, for there is no pasturage.
"If our sins have answered against us,
Iahweh, act for Thine own Name sake;
For our relapses are many;
Against Thee have we trespassed.
"Hope of Israel, that savest him in time of trouble,
Wherefore wilt Thou be as a stranger in the land,
And as a traveller that leaveth the road but for the night?
Wherefore wilt Thou be as a man o'erpowered with sleep,
As a warrior that cannot rescue?
"Sith Thou art in our midst, O Iahvah,
And Thy Name upon us hath been called;
Cast us not down!"
How beautiful both plaint and prayer! The simple description of the
effects of the drought is as lifelike and impressive as a good picture.
The whole country is stricken; the city-gates, the place of common
resort, where the citizens meet for business and for conversation, are
gloomy with knots of mourners robed in black from head to foot, or,
as the Hebrew may also imply, sitting on the ground, in the garb and
posture of desolation (Lam. ii. 10, iii. 28). The magnates of Jerusalem
send out their retainers to find water; and we see them returning with
empty vessels, their heads muffled in their cloaks, in sign of grief
at the failure of their errand (cf. 1 Kings xviii. 5, 6). The parched
ground everywhere gapes with fissures;[58] the yeomen go about with
covered heads in deepest dejection. The distress is universal, and
affects not man only, but the brute creation. Even the gentle hind, that
proverb of maternal tenderness, is driven by sorest need to forsake the
fruit of her hard travail; her starved dugs are dry, and she flies from
her helpless offspring. The wild asses of the desert, fleet, beautiful
and keen-eyed creatures, scan the withered landscape from the naked
cliffs, and snuff the wind, like jackals scenting prey; but neither
sight nor smell suggests relief. There is no moisture in the air, no
glimpse of pasture in the wide sultry land.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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