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    You plant them and watch them take root;
        You allow them to grow and even bear fruit.
        And yet, Your words mean nothing to them, deep down.
    Still, You know me, Eternal One; You see what is deep inside me.
        You’ve examined my heart,
    So why aren’t they brought to justice? Deal with them as sheep
        set aside for slaughter, singled out for death.
    How long must the land cry out in mourning,
        the grasses of the field wither and bake in the sun?
    The birds and wild animals have simply vanished,
        all because of the wicked living here—
    Because they say, “God does not see what will become of us.”

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