Have I been a desert to Israel,
Or land of thick darkness?
Why say my folk, “We are off,
No more to meet Thee!”
Can a maiden forget her adorning
Or her girdle the bride?
Yet Me have My people forgotten
Days without number.[785]
So, too, when the deserved doom threatens, and in hate He has cast off His heritage, His love still wonders how that can be—
Is My heritage to Me a speckled wild-bird