As arrows in the hand of a mighty one, So are the sons of the young men.
Sharp arrows of a mighty one, with broom-coals.
Sons' sons are the crown of old men, And the glory of sons are their fathers.
Her sons have risen up, and pronounce her happy, Her husband, and he praiseth her,
For, lo, I am stirring up, And am causing to come up against Babylon, An assembly of great nations from a land of the north, And they have set in array against her, From thence she is captured, Its arrow--as a skilful hero--returneth not empty,