My heart is toward Moab, Cry do her fugitives unto Zoar, a heifer of the third year , For--the ascent of Luhith--With weeping he goeth up in it, For, in the way of Horonaim, A cry of destruction they wake up.
Therefore filled have been my loins with great pain, Pangs have seized me as pangs of a travailing woman, I have been bent down by hearing, I have been troubled by seeing.
Look attentively from the heavens, And see from Thy holy and beauteous habitation, Where is Thy zeal and Thy might? The multitude of Thy bowels and Thy mercies Towards me have refrained themselves.
A precious son is Ephraim to Me? A child of delights? For since My speaking against him, I do thoroughly remember him still, Therefore have My bowels been moved for him, I do greatly love him, An affirmation of Jehovah.
My bowels, my bowels! I am pained at the walls of my heart, Make a noise for me doth My heart, I am not silent, For the voice of a trumpet I have heard, O my soul--a shout of battle!
See, O Jehovah, for distress is to me, My bowels have been troubled, Turned hath been my heart in my midst, For I have greatly provoked, From without bereaved hath the sword, In the house it is as death.
How do I give thee up, O Ephraim? Do I deliver thee up, O Israel? How do I make thee as Admah? Do I set thee as Zeboim? Turned in Me is My heart, kindled together have been My repentings.