Now our homes are as those that have no roofs.

As a nest decayed, as a cave forsaken, As a ship that lieth broken on the beach, Is the house where we were born.

Out in the desert did we bury our gold, We buried it where no man robbed us, for his arm was strong.

Now are the jars empty, gold did not avail To save our young men, to keep them from the chains.

God hath swallowed his voice, or the sea hath drowned it, Or the Nile hath covered him with its flood; Else would he come when our voices call.