And their wounded are cast out, And their carcases cause their stench to ascend, And melted have been mountains from their blood.

Among the smooth things of a brook is thy portion, They -- they are thy lot, Also to them thou hast poured out an oblation, Thou hast caused a present to ascend, For these things am I comforted?

All the flock of Kedar are gathered to thee, The rams of Nebaioth do serve thee, They ascend for acceptance Mine altar, And the house of My beauty I beautify.

For, lo, I am creating new heavens, and a new earth, And the former things are not remembered, Nor do they ascend on the heart.