if my land cries out against me and its furrows weep together,
For the stones will cry out from the wall, and the rafters will echo it from the woodwork.
The heavens will expose his iniquity, and the earth will rise up against him.
Look, the wages you withheld from the workmen who mowed your fields are crying out against you. The cries of the harvest
The pastures are clothed with flocks, and the valleys are decked with grain. They shout in triumph; indeed, they sing.