For, her own blood, hath come to be in her midst, Upon the smooth face of the cliff, hath she set it,- She hath not poured it out on the earth, that she might cover it with dust.

And they shall destroy the walls of Tyre. And break down her towers, And I will scrape clean her dust from off her, - And make of her the glaring face of a cliff:

By reason of the multitude of his horses, their dust shall cover thee, - At the noise of horseman and wheel and chariot, shall thy walls tremble, when he entereth into thy gates Just as they do who enter a city broken open.

And they shall spoil thy wealth And make a prey of thy merchandise, And break down thy walls And thy pleasant houses, shall they lay in ruins; And thy stones and thy timber and thy dust - in the midst of the waters, shall they lay.

And make loud lament over thee, with their voice, And make biter outcry,- And shall lift up dust on their heads, In ashes, shall roll themselves;