Surely wickedness burned like an out-of-control fire, consuming thorns and thistles. It set ablaze the thickets of the forest with flames swirling upward in columns of smoke.
From long ago, the king’s fiery burial place has been prepared, stacked high with plenty of firewood to fuel the flame. Yahweh’s breath, like a stream of sulfur, kindles it.
The nations are roaring like the roar of a massive waterfall, but when God rebukes them they disperse like chaff on the mountains, like a tumbleweed whirling in the wind.