and the cities they break down, and `on' every good portion they cast each his stone, and have filled it, and every fountain of water they stop, and every good tree they cause to fall -- till one had left its stones in Kir-Haraseth, and the slingers go round and smite it.
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.