Jeremiah 21
Jeremiah chapter 21 from the John Wycliffe Bible (c.1395)
1 Reise ye a signe in Sion, coumforte ye, and nyle ye stonde; for Y bringe yuel fro the north, and a greet sorewe.
2 A lioun schal rise vp fro his denne, and the robbere of folkis schal reise hym silf. He is goon out of his place, to sette thi lond in to wildirnesse; thi citees schulen be distried, abidynge stille with out dwellere.</span> <span class="verse" data-verse="3"><sup>3</sup> On this thing girde you with heiris; weile ye, and yelle, for the wraththe of the strong veniaunce of the Lord is not turned awei fro you.</span> <span class="verse" data-verse="4"><sup>4</sup> And it schal be, in that dai, seith the Lord, the herte of the king schal perische, and the herte of princis; and the prestis schulen wondre, and the prophetis schulen be astonyed.</span> <span class="verse" data-verse="5"><sup>5</sup> And Y seide, Alas! alas! alas! Lord God; therfor whether thou hast disseyued this puple and Jerusalem, seiynge, Pees schal be to you, and lo! a swerd is comun til to the soule?
6 In that tyme it schal be seide to this puple and to Jerusalem, A brennynge wynd in the weies that ben in desert, ben the weies of the douytir of my puple, not to wyndewe, and not to purge.
7 A spirit ful of hem schal come to me; and now Y, but Y schal speke my domes with hem.
8 Lo! he schal stie as a cloude, and hise charis as a tempest; hise horsis ben swifter than eglis; wo to vs, for we ben distried.
9 Thou Jerusalem, waische thin herte fro malice, that thou be maad saaf. Hou long schulen noiful thouytis dwelle in thee?
10 For whi the vois of a tellere fro Dan, and makynge knowun an idol fro the hil of Effraym.
11 Reise, ye folkis; lo! it is herd in Jerusalem that keperis ben comun fro a fer lond, and yyuen her vois on the citees of Juda.
12 As the keperis of feeldis thei ben maad on it in cumpas; for it stiride me to wrathfulnesse, seith the Lord.
13 Thi weyes and thi thouytis han maad this to thee; this malice of thee, for it is bittir, for it touchide thin herte.
14 Mi wombe akith, my wombe akith; the wittis of myn herte ben disturblid in me. Y schal not be stille, for my soule herde the vois of a trumpe, the cry of batel.