[Processional Chant] Gird the priests; let the altar hear grief, Cry to the LORD while the seed rots below, Sleep in the sackcloth, no night of relief. The barn has no answer, the stream does not flow. [Verse 1] Sanctify a fast, gather all in the house, Not scattered complaint but one humbled mouth. Cattle stand restless, the sheep have no field, [Bridge] Even wild creatures pant toward the One who can heal. The day draws near like destruction at noon, [Chorus] Cry to the LORD while the seed rots below, The barn has no answer, the stream does not flow. Joy left the sanctuary and silence filled the room. Fast is not theater, sackcloth not disguise, [Verse 2] Gather the elders and let honest prayer rise. When every reserve and every pasture has passed, The nation has nothing but God and the fast. [Final Chorus] Cry to the LORD while the seed rots below, The barn has no answer, the stream does not flow. Fast is not theater, sackcloth not disguise, The nation has nothing but God and the fast.