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.
But he said to them, “Do not be amazed; you are looking for Jesus the Nazarene, who has been crucified. He has risen; He is not here; see, here is the place where they laid Him.”
God, You are my God; I shall be watching for You; My soul thirsts for You, my flesh yearns for You, In a dry and exhausted land where there is no water.