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Oh listen to the trumpet that comes from the mountain top of Sion’s summit. She calls: Oh if you were rather cold or warm. But you are lukewarm, in a sleepy, slumbering mood. If you were rather black or white. But through interbreeding you are diminished. I hear the trumpet: Evacuate-evacuate. Look, the smoke columns of the bombs are standing on the horizon in snow-white plumes.

See the soldiers marching across the big city square. In the downward movement of the dune, in the bombardment there is no time for evacuating. Behind the speeding warships, the foam is standing snow-white. The dying ones suffocate in their own, bloody slime. In the snowfall of a late winter there lie heaps of people who perished in the cold. Therefore, woe to the forthcoming Passover. The big ones of the world are in a dark, aggressive mood. In a mouthful of wheat for a pound, who still wants to exchange his sip of whine for a dollar?

See the needy hiding in the wilderness. While a multitude of children are crying with hunger. Therefore listen to the trumpet coming from the mountain top of Sion’s summit. Look, from there the emergency call is signaled to God. The remnant is very small. But Elohim’s mercy is infinite over them.  But it is too late for the world to evacuate. There is nobody that can clean up the chaos after the big war. If you were rather cold or warm, oh worldling. But you are lukewarm and therefore you just stay a liberal swine.