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;
Therefore I weep with Jazer for the vines of Sibmah; I drench you with my tears, Heshbon and Elealeh; For on your summer fruits and harvests the battle cry has fallen.
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! like an eagle he soars aloft, and spreads his wings over Bozrah; On that day the hearts of Edom’s warriors become like the heart of a woman in labor. Against Damascus.
I hear, and my body trembles; at the sound, my lips quiver. Decay invades my bones, my legs tremble beneath me. I await the day of distress that will come upon the people who attack us.
When a woman is in labor, she is in anguish because her hour has arrived; but when she has given birth to a child, she no longer remembers the pain because of her joy that a child has been born into the world.
In the morning you will say, “Would that it were evening!” and in the evening you will say, “Would that it were morning!” because of the dread that your heart must feel and the sight that your eyes must see.