And now hath Jehovah spoken, saying, 'In three years, as years of an hireling, Lightly esteemed is the honour of Moab, With all the great multitude, And the remnant is little, small, not mighty!'

And they have hanged on him All the honour of the house of his father, The offspring and the issue, All vessels of small quality, From vessels of basins to all vessels of flagons.

Bread -corn is beaten small, For not for ever doth he sorely thresh it, Nor crushed it hath a wheel of his cart, Nor do his hoofs beat it small.

And as small dust hath been The multitude of those scattering thee, And as chaff passing on the multitude of the terrible, And it hath been at an instant -- suddenly.

Lo, nations as a drop from a bucket, And as small dust of the balance, have been reckoned, Lo, isles as a small thing He taketh up.

Lo, I have set thee for a new sharp threshing instrument, Possessing teeth, thou threshest mountains, And beatest small, and hills as chaff thou makest.

In a small moment I have forsaken thee, And in great mercies I do gather thee,

The little one doth become a chief, And the small one a mighty nation, I, Jehovah, in its own time do hasten it!