“O you afflicted [city], storm-tossed, and not comforted,
Listen carefully, I will set your [precious] stones in mortar,
And lay your foundations with sapphires.

And roll you up tightly like a ball
And toss you into a vast country;
There you will die
And there your splendid chariots will be,
You shame of your master’s house.’

Bread grain is crushed fine,
Indeed, the farmer does not continue to thresh it forever.
Because the wheel of his cart and his horses eventually damage it,
He does not thresh it longer.