Over the mountains I shall break out in cries of lamentation, over the pastures in the wilderness, in a dirge: They are scorched, and no one crosses them, no sound of lowing cattle; Birds of the air as well as beasts, all have fled and are gone.
Before it, fire devours, behind it flame scorches. The land before it is like the garden of Eden, and behind it, a desolate wilderness; from it nothing escapes.