Its quiver `is' as an open sepulchre, All of them -- mighty ones.
For there is no stability in their mouth. Their heart `is' mischiefs, An open grave `is' their throat, Their tongue they make smooth.
And bows dash young men to pieces, And the fruit of the womb they pity not, On sons their eye hath no pity.
Whose arrows `are' sharp, and all its bows bent, Hoofs of its horses as flint have been reckoned, And its wheels as a hurricane!
Thus said Jehovah: Lo, a people hath come from a north country, And a great nation is stirred up from the sides of the earth.
Bow and javelin they take hold of, Fierce it `is', and they have no mercy, Their voice as a sea doth sound, And on horses they ride, set in array as a man of war, Against thee, O daughter of Zion.
He hath caused to enter into my reins The sons of His quiver.
A sepulchre opened `is' their throat; with their tongues they used deceit; poison of asps `is' under their lips.