For a voice as of a sick woman I have heard, Distress, as of one bringing forth a first-born, The voice of the daughter of Zion, She bewaileth herself, she spreadeth out her hands, 'Woe to me now, for weary is my soul of slayers!'

'We have heard its sound, feeble have been our hands, Distress hath seized us, pain as of a travailing woman.

Feeble hath been Damascus, She turned to flee, and fear strengthened her, Distress and pangs have seized her, as a travailing woman.

Heard hath the king of Babylon their report, And feeble have been his hands, Distress hath seized him; pain as a travailing woman.