YLT(i)
8 And now, O Jehovah, thou art our Father, We are the clay, and Thou our Framer, And the work of Thy hand—all of us.
9 Be not wroth, O Jehovah, very sore, Nor for ever remember iniquity, Lo, look attentively, we beseech Thee, Thy people are we all.
10 Thy holy cities have been a wilderness, Zion a wilderness hath been, Jerusalem a desolation.
11 Our holy and our beautiful house, Where praise Thee did our fathers, Hath become burnt with fire, And all our desirable things have become a waste.
12 For these dost Thou refrain Thyself, Jehovah? Thou art silent, and dost afflict us very sore!'