My heart cries out for Moab, his fugitives reach Zoar, Eglath-shelishiyah: The ascent of Luhith they ascend weeping; On the way to Horonaim they utter rending cries;
Look down from heaven and regard us from your holy and glorious palace! Where is your zealous care and your might, your surge of pity? Your mercy hold not back!
Is Ephraim not my favored son, the child in whom I delight? Even though I threaten him, I must still remember him! My heart stirs for him, I must show him compassion!—oracle of the Lord.
My body! my body! how I writhe! The walls of my heart! My heart beats wildly, I cannot be still; For I myself have heard the blast of the horn, the battle cry.
Look, O Lord, at the anguish I suffer! My stomach churns, And my heart recoils within me: How bitter I am! Outside the sword bereaves— indoors, there is death.
How could I give you up, Ephraim, or deliver you up, Israel? How could I treat you as Admah, or make you like Zeboiim? My heart is overwhelmed, my pity is stirred.