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Upon the ninth day—wrath, disgrace, and shame!

Stripped off was my fair robe in honor worn;

For he who gave sweet words was surely torn:

Ezra the scribe—yea, he of blessed name.

The tenth day: then the seer was bidden: "Yea,

Write thee within the book of vision; write

This for remembrance; now shalt thou indite

For them despised and crushed this selfsame day."

Counting the months, within the tenth the woe

And wail he wakened; but the sorrow's smart—

Its onward way was branded on my heart

When one came saying: "The city is struck low."

For these things I have scattered o'er me dust:

O that a shaft had pierced mine heart that day!

For such woe I would dig my grave;—but nay,

I wrought rebelliously: the Lord is just.