The LORD's people are his flock, and you leaders were the shepherds. But now it's your turn to be butchered like sheep. You'll shatter like fine pottery dropped on the floor. So roll on the ground, crying and mourning.
Cry, people of Heshbon; your town will become a pile of rubble. You will turn here and there, but your path will be blocked. Put on sackcloth and mourn, you citizens of Rabbah, because the idol you worship will be taken to a foreign country, along with its priests and temple officials.
But suddenly, Babylon will fall and be destroyed. I, the LORD, told the foreigners who lived there, “Weep for the city! Get medicine for its wounds; perhaps they will heal.”
Mourn, you priests who serve at the altar of my God. Spend your days and nights wearing sackcloth. Offerings of grain and wine are no longer brought to the LORD's temple.
Her sufferings will frighten them, and they will stand at a distance and say, “Pity that great and powerful city! Pity Babylon! In a single hour her judgment has come.”