1Oh, that you would rip open the heavens and descend, make the mountains shudder at your presence—
2As when a forest catches fire, as when fire makes a pot to boil—
3To shock your enemies into facing you, make the nations shake in their boots! You did terrible things we never expected, descended and made the mountains shudder at your presence.
4Since before time began no one has ever imagined, No ear heard, no eye seen, a God like you who works for those who wait for him.
5You meet those who happily do what is right, who keep a good memory of the way you work. But how angry you've been with us! We've sinned and kept at it so long! Is there any hope for us? Can we be saved?
6We're all sin-infected, sin-contaminated. Our best efforts are grease-stained rags. We dry up like autumn leaves— sin-dried, we're blown off by the wind.
7No one prays to you or makes the effort to reach out to you Because you've turned away from us, left us to stew in our sins.
8Still, God, you are our Father. We're the clay and you're our potter: All of us are what you made us.
9Don't be too angry with us, O God. Don't keep a permanent account of wrongdoing. Keep in mind, please, we are your people—all of us.
10Your holy cities are all ghost towns: Zion's a ghost town, Jerusalem's a field of weeds.
11Our holy and beautiful Temple, which our ancestors filled with your praises, Was burned down by fire, all our lovely parks and gardens in ruins.
12In the face of all this, are you going to sit there unmoved, God? Aren't you going to say something? Haven't you made us miserable long enough?