For the customs of the peoples are futile; For it is wood cut from the forest, The work of the hands of a craftsman with a cutting tool. They decorate the idol with silver and gold; They fasten it with nails and hammers So that it will not totter. They are like a scarecrow in a cucumber field, And they cannot speak; They must be carried, Because they cannot walk! Do not fear them, For they can do no harm, Nor can they do any good.
You are the salt of the earth; but if the salt has become tasteless, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled underfoot by people.