They keep stumbling, yes, falling over each other. Then they said: ‘Get up! Let’s return to our own people, to the land of our birth, away from the oppressor’s sword.’
Even her mercenaries among her are like stall-fed calves, for they also will turn back— they will flee away together, they will not stand up— for the day of their calamity has come upon them, the time of their visitation.
Cut off the sower from Babylon and the one who wields a sickle in the time of harvest. Before the sword of the oppressor they will each turn to his people, each will flee to his own land.
We would have healed Babylon, but she cannot be healed. Abandon her! Let’s go, each one to his own country, for her judgment has reached up to the heavens and has risen beyond the skies.