I cannot keep silent,

For I have* heard the sound of the horn,

The alarm signal of war.*+

18 My grief is incurable;

My heart is sick.

19 From a distant land there is a cry for help

From the daughter of my people:

“Why have they offended me with their graven images,

With their worthless foreign gods?”

9 O that my head were waters,

My eyes a fountain of tears!+

Then I would weep day and night

For the slain ones of my people.