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.
And they broke down the cities; and they each man cast his stone on every good piece of land, and filled it. And they stopped every fountain of water. And they felled every good tree, until there was left only Kir-haraseth with its stones. But the slingers surrounded it and struck it.
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.
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?
As a partridge broods and does not hatch, so is he who makes riches, and not with justice; it will leave him in the midst of his days, and at his end he will be a foolish one.
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!