My own heart is toward Mo’aḇ; her fugitives cry unto Tso‛ar, like a three-year-old heifer. For by the ascent of Luḥith they go up with weeping; for in the way of Ḥoronayim they raise a cry of destruction.
Therefore my loins are filled with anguish; pangs have seized me, like the pangs of a woman in labour. I was distressed when I heard it; I was troubled when I saw it.
Look down from the heavens, and see from Your set-apart and comely dwelling. Where are Your ardour and Your might, the stirring of Your inward parts and Your compassion toward me? Are they withheld?
“Is Ephrayim a precious son to Me, a child of delights? For though I spoke against him, I still remembered him. That is why My affections were deeply moved for him. I have great compassion for him,” declares יהוה.
O my inward parts, my inward parts! I am in pain! O the walls of my heart! My heart pounds in me, I am not silent. For you have heard, O my being, a voice of a shophar, a shout of battle!
“See, O יהוה, that I am in distress. My inward parts are boiling up, My heart is overturned within me, For I have been very rebellious. From without the sword has bereaved, At home it is like death.
“How could I give you up, Ephrayim? How could I hand you over, Yisra’ĕl? How could I make you like Aḏmah? How could I set you like Tseḇoyim? My heart turns within Me, all My compassion is kindled.