There is none weary, nor stumbling in it, It doth not slumber, nor sleep, Nor opened hath been the girdle of its loins, Nor drawn away the latchet of its sandals.
Nations have heard of thy shame, And thy cry hath filled the land, For the mighty on the mighty did stumble, Together they have fallen -- both of them!'
Summon unto Babylon archers, all treading the bow, Encamp against her round about, Let `her' have no escape; Recompense to her according to her work, According to all that she did -- do to her, For unto Jehovah she hath been proud, Unto the Holy One of Israel.
Slumbered have thy friends, king of Asshur, Rest do thine honourable ones, Scattered have been thy people on the mountains, And there is none gathering.
And the flame of a sword, and the lightning of a spear, And the abundance of the wounded, And the weight of carcases, Yea, there is no end to the bodies, They stumble over their bodies.
Swifter than leopards have been its horses, And sharper than evening wolves, And increased have its horsemen, Even its horsemen from afar come in, They fly as an eagle, hasting to consume.