And removed have been gladness and joy from the fruitful field, And in vineyards they sing not, nor shout, Wine in the presses treadeth not the treader, Shouting I have caused to cease.

Be silent, ye inhabitants of the isle, Trader of Zidon, passing the sea, they filled thee.

A way of peace they have not known, And there is no judgment in their paths, Their paths they have made perverse for themselves, No treader in it hath known peace.