Joel · Chapter 1

[ edit] The word of þe Lord, þat is maad to Joel, þe ſone of Fatuel. Heere ȝe, olde men, þis, and wiþ eeris perceyue ȝe, alle dwellers of erþe. Ȝif þis þing is don in ȝour days, or in days of ȝour faders. Vpon þis þing telle ȝe to ȝour ſones, and ȝour ſonys to her ſonys, and þe ſonys of hem to an oþer generacioun. A locuſt eete þe reſidue of eruke, þat is, a worme of bowis, and a bruke eete þe reſidue of locuſt, and ruſt eete þe reſidue of bruke. Awake ȝe, drunken men, and weepe; and ȝoule ȝe, alle þat drynken wyne in ſwetneſſe; for it periſhide fro ȝour mouþ. Forſoþe folk haþ ſtyed vpon my lond, ſtronge and vnnoumbreable.

Þe teeþ of hym as teeþ of lyoun, and his wangteeþ as whelpis of a lyoun. He haþ putte my vyne ȝerd in to deſert, and haþ drawen of þe barc of my fijg tree. He nakynge robbide it, and caſtide awey; þe braunchis þerof ben maad whijt. Weile þou, as a mayden gird wiþ a ſacche vpon þe huſbonde of hir puberte, þat is, tyme of weddynge. Sacrifice periſhide, and libacioun, þat is, offryng fleetynge þingus, of þe hous of þe Lord; and preſtis, mynyſtris of þe Lord, murneden. Þe cuntree is robbid, þe erþe mournede; for whete is waaſtid, and wijn is confoundid, and oyle langwiſhide, or failide. Erþe tiliers ben confoundid, vyne tiliers ȝouliden vpon whete, wijn, and barly; for corn of þe feeld periſhide.

Þe vyne ȝerd is confoundid, and þe fyge tree langwiſhide. Poumgarnet, and palme tree, and maal tree, or fir, of whom maſtis ben maad, and alle trees of þe feeld dryeden; for ioye is confoundid fro ſonys of men. Ȝe preſtis, gyrde ȝou, and weile; ȝe mynyſtris of þe auter, ȝoule. Ȝe mynyſtris of my God, entre ȝe yn, ligge ȝe in ſak; for ſacrifice periſhide of þe hous of ȝour God, and offryng of fleetyng þing. Halewe ȝe faſtyng, clepe ȝe cumpanye, gadre ȝe olde men, and alle dwellers of þe lond in to þe hous of ȝour God; and crye ȝe to þe Lord, A! A! A! to þe day; for þe day of þe Lord is niȝ, and as waaſtynge it ſhal cum of þe miȝty.

Wher not before ȝour eeȝen fodis periſhen of þe hous of your God; gladneſſe and ioye wiþ outen forþ? Beeſtus wexiden roten to gidre in her drit. Berns ben deſtruyed, celers ben ſcaterd, for whete is confuſid. What ſorewide a beeſt wiþ ynne? flockis of grete beeſtis lowiden? for leſewe is not to hem; bot and flockis of ſheep periſhiden. To þee, Lord, Y ſhal crye, for fijre ete þe fair þingus of deſert, and flawme brente alle trees of þe cuntree. Bot and beeſtis of þe feeld, as a feeld þriſtynge rayn, byhelden vp to þee; for wellis of watris ben dryed vp, and fijr deuourede þe fair þingis of deſert.