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.