For from the face of destructions they fled, From the face of a stretched-out sword, And from the face of a trodden bow, And from the face of the grievousness of battle.
Nations as the wasting of many waters are wasted, And He hath pushed against it, And it hath fled afar off, And been pursued as chaff of hills before wind, And as a rolling thing before a hurricane.
And fallen hath Asshur by sword, not of the high, Yea, a sword — not of the low, doth consume him, And he hath fled for himself from the face of a sword, And his young men become tributary.