² `Son of man, prophesy, and thou hast said: Thus said the Lord Jehovah: Howl ye, ha! for the day!

⁶ Howl ye, for near `is' the day of Jehovah, As destruction from the Mighty it cometh.

¹¹ Be ashamed, ye husbandmen, Howl, vine-dressers, for wheat and for barley, For perished hath the harvest of the field.

⁵ Awake, ye drunkards, and weep, And howl all drinking wine, because of the juice, For it hath been cut off from your mouth.

¹² Cry and howl, son of man, For it hath been among My people, It `is' among all the princes of Israel, Cast unto the sword have been My people. Therefore strike on thy thigh,

² He hath gone up to Bajith and Dibon, The high places -- to weep, On Nebo and on Medeba Moab howleth, On all its heads `is' baldness, every beard cut off.

¹⁰ from afar having stood because of the fear of her torment, saying, Wo, wo, the great city! Babylon, the strong city! because in one hour did come thy judgment.

¹ Go, now, ye rich! weep, howling over your miseries that are coming upon `you';

² Howl, O fir, for fallen hath the cedar, For their honourable ones were destroyed, Howl, ye oaks of Bashan, For come down hath the fenced forest,

¹¹ Howl, ye inhabitants of the hollow place, For cut off hath been all the merchant people, Cut off have been all bearing silver.

² `Thus said Jehovah: Lo, waters are coming up from the north, And have been for an overflowing stream, And they overflow the land and its fulness, The city, and the inhabitants in it, And men have cried out, And howled hath every inhabitant of the land.

⁸ For this, gird on sackcloth, lament and howl, For the fierce anger of Jehovah hath not turned back from us.

¹⁴ Lo, My servants sing from joy of heart, And ye cry from pain of heart, And from breaking of spirit ye do howl.

⁶ Pass over to Tarshish, howl, ye inhabitants of the isle,

¹ The Burden of Tyre. Howl, ye ships of Tarshish, For it hath been destroyed, Without house, without entrance, From the land of Chittim it was revealed to them.

⁷ Therefore howl doth Moab for Moab, all of it doth howl, For the grape-cakes of Kir-Hareseth it meditateth, Surely they are smitten.

³¹ Howl, O gate; cry, O city, Melted art thou, Philistia, all of thee, For from the north smoke hath come, And there is none alone in his set places.