My heart shall cry to Moab; her fugitives to Zoar, a heifer of three years; he goes up the ascent of Luhith with weeping, for in the way of Horonaim they shall raise up a cry of ruin.
On account of this my loins are filled with pain; pangs have taken hold on me like the pangs of a one giving birth. I am bowed from bearing; I am troubled from seeing.
Look down from Heaven and peer from the place of Your holiness and Your glory. Where is Your zeal and Your might? The roaring of Your bowels and Your mercies toward me, are they held back?
Is Ephraim My dear son? Or is he a delightful child? For as often as I spoke against him, remembering I remember him still. So My bowels are stirred for him; pitying I will have pity on him, a statement of Jehovah.
My bowels! My bowels! I convulse in pain. O walls of my heart! My heart roars within me. I cannot be silent, for I have heard the sound of the rams’ horn. O my soul, the alarm of war!
Therefore, My heart shall mourn for Moab like flutes; and My heart shall sound like flutes for the men of Kir-heres, because the riches that he has gotten have perished.
See, O Jehovah, for distress is to me. My bowels ferment; my heart is turned over within me; for rebelling I have rebelled. On the outside the sword bereaves; in the house it is as death.
How shall I give you up, Ephraim? Shall I deliver you, Israel? How shall I make you like Admah? Shall I set you as Zeboim? My heart has turned within Me; My compassions are kindled together.